Polaris
by crazylittleelf
Summary: Nick and Olive find Peter again.  Set in my Ways and Means AU following Distant Early Warning.
1. September

The club was a moody, intimate thing, full of rich fabric and low lighting. Upscale, to say the least, and Olive thought the atmosphere was a bit over the top, but the darkness did make her job easier. The tables were carefully isolated, burgundy curtains and dark, polished wood creating little spaces that gave the illusion of privacy. Sinatra crooned from well-hidden speakers.

Olive had been circling her target all evening, milling with the socialites and making eyes at him from across the room. She had Ryan Statham cornered now in a table towards the back of the lounge. She flashed another vapid smile at him and shifted closer to him on the deeply padded seat. The account executive from EmTech Industries wasn't bad looking, with a strong jaw and deep brown eyes, but Olive could feel the thoughts that roiled beneath the surface and forced herself to not flinch away. She stroked her fingers over his arm again, feeling the play of muscle beneath his skin through the crisp pressed fabric of his shirt. In shape, even if the muscles were for show rather than from any real physical work. She could kickbox his ass into a pulp without breaking a sweat for all the good his bulk would do him.

She sort of hoped it would come to that.

Statham finished off his scotch, and if he noticed the slight residue that had collected in the bottom of his drink, he didn't give any indication. Four scotches into the evening and he didn't seem to be noticing anything other than her. His hand was roaming up her leg again.

He leaned closer and she tilted her face up towards his, nuzzling him lightly when his lips brushed her ear. "My hotel isn't far from here. Shall I call for my car to take us back?"

Her smile was genuine this time, if for entirely different reasons than he supposed. She made sure her voice was low, slightly breathless. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I'd like that."

Nick was on the sidewalk outside the club, another yuppie trying to hail a cab. She met his eyes briefly, flicked them down the block towards the hotel. He raked his eyes over her and grinned before giving up his quest for a cab he didn't want. She could feel his amusement at the barely existent dress, but behind that was carefully contained jealousy, and a low, dark anger at what they knew Statham was capable of doing. Olive resisted the urge to smirk at him, but only just. Statham's hand was at the small of her back again, slipping down over her ass, ushering her towards the car.

The hotel was close by, hardly worth the car, but the journey stretched to nearly a quarter hour because of traffic and pedestrians that crowded the streets of the theater district. Statham's hand was sliding from her bare knee up her leg, pausing only slightly at the hem of her dress. She turned in the seat, keeping herself molded against him, but more importantly keeping eye contact. She pushed away the discomfort of meeting someone's eyes for so long and held his gaze. He liked her eyes. Among other things. His fingers reached the lacy top of her stocking. He made a hungry little growling sound, and pinned her to the seat, lips rough against hers. He tasted like cigarettes and scotch, sickly yellow and sounding like pain. She ruthlessly held her barriers up, not wanting even slightly to feel what he wanted to do to her. It filtered across anyway, and she kept her face carefully neutral, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted. The car rolled to a stop at the entryway of the hotel.

Statham cupped a hand against her cheek and brushed his thumb over her lips. His touch was heavy, just starting to fumble, and she smiled. She darted her tongue out to flick over his thumb and whispered, "Let's go upstairs."

Olive leaned against Statham and let him guide her through the lobby as she concentrated on setting up feedback loops in the surveillance system in the hotel. She didn't bother to be subtle about it, just nuked them all, and the little cameras throughout the building died little deaths. She could feel Nick's impatience and irritation as he loitered outside the elevator on Statham's floor.

Olive considered for a moment in the elevator that they might not make it to the room, as Statham pressed her against the back wall and gnawed hungrily at her mouth. She thought though a plan that involved smashing his head against the wall and getting Nick to help her drag Statham back to his room, but that always ran the risk of meeting someone in the hallway.

The elevator chimed softly and Olive pushed Statham off of her towards the open door. He stumbled a little as he backed through the door. She wasn't bothering to mask her expression anymore. Nick pushed himself away from the wall and stalked towards them. He fell in step beside them as they made their way down the hall. Statham's eyes were bleary when he looked up.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Nick patted Statham's cheek, smiling as the older man clumsily tried to bat his hand away. "Such language."

Olive pulled the key card form Statham's fingers. "You should hear what he isn't saying." The little light flickered from red to green and she ushered them both into the room.

Nick wrinkled his nose. "No thanks. We need him alive at least long enough for us to get some answers out of him."

Fear was beginning to gather in Statham's mind, a slow realization that he'd been played by a slender blond girl with wide, hazel eyes. That girl was gone now, and cold eyes of her replacement made him shudder.

Nick's grin was chilling. "Mr. Statham, we need to discuss a matter of some importance. Now, we're all friends here, so I trust that we can be completely honest with each other. I understand that you might be hesitant to give up your source of this information, but I assure you, whatever they threatened you with pales in comparison what I'm going to do."

Statham lunged towards the door. Olive's hand darted towards his throat, a quick blow that dropped him to his knees and left him gasping. He staggered up and tried again. She caught one arm and twisted it behind his back. "God, you're a moron."

Nick grabbed Statham by the shoulders and shoved him into a chair and sat on the end of the bed, opposite him. "Where are the weapons coming from?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Statham choked out.

Nick shook his head. "I thought we were friends. There's no reason to lie to me."

Statham's darted between the two of them, lingering on Olive as she pulled a wicked looking hunting knife from her handbag.

"You'll never get away with this."

Olive pointed the knife at him. "So cliche."

Nick leaned forward. "We know your company isn't capable of producing the weapons, even though someone has gone through a lot of work to make it look that way. You, quite honestly, aren't up to the task of coordinating an independent production site. Someone is feeding you the weapons and you're reselling them. Who?"

Nick watched Statham carefully and sifted through the fears that swirled at the edge of his mind, finding likely targets and amplifying them. It only took a little push and Statham was whimpering, spilling off the chair and scrambling away on the floor. Fear was easy.

Nick stood and followed Statham.

"Last chance."

"Why should I tell you! You're going to kill me anyway."

Nick shrugged. "It's the difference between having a heart attack and something… less than respectable."

"What?"

Nick glanced at him. "'You know, there are worse ways to go, but I can't think of a more undignified way than autoerotic asphyxiation.'"

Olive rolled her eyes.

"Dude, you might as well just tell us."

Statham's voice was shrill with panic. "Why are you doing this?"

Olive shrugged. "It's our job."

They left the hotel together, hand in hand. There was a group of young men peering at the wiring hidden under the front desk at the passed, one of them starring up at the concealed cameras in confusion. Olive smirked at them.

The night was getting chilly and Nick shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She pushed her arms into the sleeves. Nick looped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side as they made their way through the crowded sidewalks to their hotel. They were staying not far from Statham's hotel, far enough that the walk and the cold air was clearing and calming their minds. They were silent the entire way.

Olive was out of Nick's jacket and was pulling the dress off over her head almost before Nick closed the door behind them. Statham's cologne clung to the fabric. To her skin. She headed to the bathroom, turning the shower on before stripping off her underwear. She kicked the pile of gauzy black lace under the sink. She could hear Nick talking in the other room, reporting in to their handler. She brushed her teeth before stepping under the hot water.

She was beginning to think he wasn't coming when Nick peeked around the curtain. "Join you?"

"'Course."

Olive ducked under the water and let Nick step into the shower behind her. The routine of their movements was calming, and Nick offered comfort over their connection, pushing it into her skin. His hands settled on her back, rubbing her shoulders.

Olive leaned back into his hands, pulling the wet mass of her hair to one side of her neck. He tightened his grip, rubbing his thumbs in little circles on either side of her spine. She hissed when his fingers hit a particularly sensitive knot. He turned her so her back was towards the water, letting her lean against him. He stroked firm paths up and down her back, and between his hands and the water, she relaxed.

Once she was limp and sleepy, Nick reached around her to shut off the water.

The room was dark, lit only by the light that filtered though the sheer curtain pulled over the windows, and they padded to bed in the darkness. Nick spooned against her back and pulled the blankets over them.

"Olive, are you okay?"

She turned so she was lying on her back, looking up at Nick's concerned face. He didn't need to ask, but they made of habit of using words instead of relying on their connection. It helped them when they had to deal with other people. It helped them feel normal when they needed to feel normal.

"He was an asshole. He deserved to die."

Nick rested his hand on her stomach. "I didn't mean that."

She traced a finger around his, outlining his hand on her skin. "I know." She sighed and stared at the ceiling for a while. "It was the easiest way to get to him." She shrugged and smirked a little. "We could have had you do it, but I don't think you're his type."

Nick smiled a little. "Lucky me."

Olive returned the smile. "I don't like it. You know I don't like other people touching me, but it doesn't matter. Its just work. And it's done now."

Nick leaned close and licked her ear. "For the record, I don't like other people touching you, either."

"Mmmm." She slid her fingers up his arm and curled her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "Good."

Now that they were done with the job, New York wasn't half bad, Nick thought.

Nick closed his eyes as he and Olive walked out of shade of the trees, sunlight momentarily blinding him. It was the tail end of summer and the days were still warm, the air holding just the slightest hint of autumn. They had slept late that morning, making the most of the enormous bed in the hotel room. They had been winding their way around the park most of the afternoon, following lunch at the Russian Tea Room, which had delighted Olive with its atmosphere and Nick with its food. Nick had been tempted to charm his way into the kitchen, but Olive was eager to get started playing at being tourists.

Nick swung his arm and squeezed Olive's hand, earning a sidelong smile from her. Sunlight glinted off the waves of her hair, loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and clear, the faint smudgy darkness under them the only visible sign of the nightmares that had kept her awake. Kept them both awake.

"Wanna go see the carousel?"

Her smile widened and she ducked her head, looking up at him through dark lashes. "Can we?"

"Course." He pulled her close and bumped his shoulder into hers. "Anything you want. Hey, you wanna maybe stay an extra night and go see the Statue of Liberty tomorrow? I'm sure it wouldn't be a big deal if we asked for one more day here."

"Yeah, that'd be fun." She leaned against his side as they walked, and contentment radiated off of her, nearly drowning out the lingering anxiety. He turned and kissed her temple, glanced across the pathway and froze.

The chess players were intent on their games, oblivious to passersby. Peter was sitting towards the middle of the row of tables, facing an older man with shaggy salt and pepper curls. He was skinnier than Nick remembered, thin fingers shaky on the chess pieces. He pushed one sleeve up absently, exposing the track marks that spidered out along his arm, mottled bruises that covered his pale skin. Nick's chest felt tight, like someone was choking the air out of his lungs.

Olive stilled next to him, a tiny, shocked sound escaping from her lips. The despair that bled out from her along their connection was crushing, and Nick felt tears welling up in his eyes. They had, when they allowed themselves to think about it at all, always assumed that Peter was somehow okay, that he was better off alone and away from the ZFT. Away from them. It was a fantasy, of course, and being confronted with the reality of the thing was more than he could take.

That it had been Olive's decision to cut Peter off from them made it that much worse.

Nick tightened his hand on hers. Her could feel her mind working through their options, training taking over and shoving aside the emotions that wanted to overwhelm her. She ran each scenario in rapid succession, offering the data to Nick as if they were deciding how to best approach a target. It was, in essence, a tactical decision. Was Peter - this Peter-stranger with his ragged jeans and fading black eye - friend or enemy? Could they bring him in and use him to their advantage?

Nick could feel tears slipping down Olive's cheeks, and thought the better question was could they bear to bring him in, knowing that whatever had brought him here was her fault. Nick's thoughts scrambled along behind hers, trying to offer suggestions. It was just too much, though - he'd never been as good at being impassive as she was. He couldn't separate the pain of seeing how broken Peter was from the need to make a rational decision. Olive's fingernails were biting into his hand. He could feel her decision to walk away before she started moving. Nick could feel her heart breaking, could feel his following after. They hesitated too long, though, and Peter's head snapped up and swiveled towards them.

Even sunken and bloodshot his eyes were familiar, a deep blue that that dredged up childhood memories and half-remembered dreams. Emotions clawed at the wall between them, sharp and painful, before the connection frayed and the barrier she had constructed reasserted itself.

Olive turned away and leaned against the low wall lining the path. She concentrated on not curling into a ball and sobbing. She clenched her fingers over the edge of the wall, rough stone biting into her skin. She leaned her weight on one hand, and drug the knuckles of the other along the stone, scraping hard enough to draw blood.

"Miss? Are you okay?" It was the man who had been playing chess with Peter. She couldn't find any words so she just nodded. He reached out to her, a gesture she was sure was supposed to be comforting. She flinched away before his hand could land on her arm. The scowl on Peter's face was hateful.

"Peter, what did you do to this nice young lady?"

Peter's eyes were hard. "Think you've got things a bit backwards there, Dom." He spat the words, never looking away from her eyes.

Pain twisted her face, brought fresh tears to her eyes. "I didn't…"

Nick's voice was even. "This isn't a conversation we should be having in public, guys."

"This isn't a conversation we should be having at all. I've got nothing to say to either one of you."

Peter turned to leave and Nick caught his arm, pushed his fingers under the sleeve of Peter's shirt to curl against his skin. "Sorry, Peter," Nick murmured softly before Peter's eyes widened in outrage then his face relaxed and he slipped into easy compliance. Nick turned his attention to the chess player.

"We're all right. We just need to talk some things out with Peter. You can go on home."

He nodded readily. "Yeah, sure." He turned and began packing the chess pieces into a wooden box.

Nick scooped Peter's backpack up off the bench and turned to leave. Olive was staring at the ground, lips moving slightly as she counted pebbles imbedded in the concrete of the sidewalk. Nick frowned at her bloody knuckles when he took her hand. "Come on. Let's get back to the hotel and figure out what the fuck we're going to do."

The hotel suite was easily twice the size of their entire apartment. It was lavish and ostentatious, and Nick didn't really like it, but Olive's eyes had gone wide at the sight of it. He had to admit that the view of the park was pretty nice.

Getting Peter through the lobby required considerable effort on Nick's part, convincing the staff to ignore the junkie that he was towing along by one skinny wrist. His head was pounding by the time they got to the room.

He dumped Peter in one of the chairs, and turned to Olive just in time to see her disappear into the bathroom. Nick rubbed at his forehead, trying to will away the dull pain. "Shit."

Nick turned at a sound behind him and saw Peter rubbing his face as he straightened in the chair. The look of mixed outrage and confusion was so familiar that Nick felt like crying. "You fucking kidnapped me?"

Nick walked towards him, hands spread in supplication. "Peter…"

"You fucking kidnapped me. Right out of the fucking park. You… what the fuck did you do? Fucking mind control? You can mind control people now?"

"Peter, come on…"

"You're fucking psycho, both of you. You abandon me and now you kidnap me?"

Nick clenched his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his temples. "Peter, shut up. God, shut up my head is fucking killing me, just shut up for a minute."

Peter snapped his mouth closed and glared. He hissed under his breath. "Fucking asshole."

"Don't call him that." Olive was standing just outside the door to the bathroom. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the messy waves of her hair gave her a feral look. She had a wad of tissues pressed to her bleeding hand.

"You," Peter leveled a finger at her, "do not get to tell me what to do."

"Both of you just stop. We just." Nick swallowed against the nausea that was swimming in his stomach. The pain of his headache was starting to prickle down the back of his neck. "Look, we need to talk this out and figure out what we're going to do."

"We? There's no fucking 'we', Nick. I'm leaving unless you're planning on stopping me."

"Peter, don't. Please. Let's just…" Nick swept his eyes over Peter's form. "Jesus, dude, are you okay?"

Peter lifted his head and stuck his jaw out. "I'm fine, no thanks to either of you."

Olive's voice was soft, but it didn't mask the pain behind her words. "We didn't do this to you."

"Bullshit, Olivia. You abandoned me and there wasn't anywhere for me to go. You cut me off without any backup knowing full well that there were people trying to kill me. Fuck, they're still looking for me for all I know."

"They're not." Her words where clipped and rang with a dull truth that brought Peter up short.

He licked his lips, running his tongue over the chapped skin. "What?"

"The men who killed Walter are dead," she said in a flat, quiet voice.

Peter turned to her.

"I killed them, at least some of them. They were part of a bigger organization, a splinter group. I'll kill them, too, but they're too strong now. I have to wait. I'm sorry."

"Olivia…"

"I tracked them down about six months after Walter was killed. They didn't want me to. Our handlers, I mean. The organization. I thought… I thought you wouldn't be safe unless I did. They thought I just wanted revenge, because they think you're dead, but I just wanted you to be safe. I didn't want them to hurt you."

The words were out of his mouth before he even thought about them. "So you hurt me, instead."

For a moment he felt her as clearly as he had when they were children. Hot pain flashed over their connection, followed by a cold longing that was so intense he shivered. The tears that had been welling in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. Then it was gone, and her face twisted with rage.

"I didn't mean to!"

"It doesn't fucking matter what you meant!"

"Stop it, both of you just stop!" Nick spent the last of his resources bending them to his words. Peter slumped back in the chair, eyes rolling back briefly before closing. Olive swayed on dizzily on her feet, and Nick crossed the room to guide her to the bed. She curled up and Nick kissed her temple, whispering against her skin, "Sorry." Her eyes fluttered shut and she slipped into unconsciousness.

Nick sank into an overstuffed chair and dropped his head into his hands.

Peter blinked his eyes open slowly. Late afternoon sun was streaming in though the windows. He was crashed on someone's couch and it was the most comfortable thing he could remember sleeping on in a long time. Someone had pulled a blanket over him.

He frowned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, then looked around the room in confusion. Nick was nowhere to be seen, and Olivia was curled on the bed, a similar blanket drawn over her sleeping form. Her hair fanned out over the pillow, and with her face relaxed in sleep, she looked impossibly young. Memories clamored, then spilled over him, the years together when they were children rising to the surface of his mind. Peter rubbed a fist at the tears that welled in his eyes. He turned away and shuffled towards the bathroom, limbs still heavy from being unconscious.

Nick was standing at the counter looking pale as death under the fluorescent lights. He tossed pills into his mouth and chased it with a deep swallow of water.

"Drugging yourself?"

Nick shrugged.

Peter fidgeted in the doorway. "What is that?"

"Lithium and Olanzapine. I take an experimental mood stabilizer, too, but that's only once a month."

Peter frowned. "Nick…?"

"I've never been exactly stable. After… things got really bad for a while. I couldn't handle it on my own, so better living through chemistry. Helped Olive, too. She didn't have to work so hard to keep me even."

"Yeah, but…"

"Peter, I don't really think you have any room to judge me for medicating myself."

Peter hugged his arms around himself.

Nick met Peter's eyes in the mirror. "If you're going to leave, I want to you to go now, while she's asleep."

Peter clenched his jaw and stared down at the tile. Marble, he thought - really nice stuff. "So you call the shots now?"

"We both do. Depends on the situation."

"Why the fuck did you bring me back here if you were just gonna make me leave again?"

"Didn't really have much time to think things through at the park," Nick said.

"Do you want me to leave?" Peter felt sort of pathetic for asking, and winced at the pleading note in his voice.

Nick stared at the countertop before turning towards Peter. "If you come back with us, they're not going to let you go again. You'll become part of our team and work with us in the field. If you're not willing to be partnered with us they'll find some other use for you away from us. Away from everyone. That is not something you want to have happen. It's not something I want to have happen to you, and I sure as hell don't want it to happen to Olive. Even though the connection between you is still walled off, I'm pretty sure it will come back if you stay near us and I don't want her to have to go though that."

"So this is all about her? What's best for her?" Peter's voice hissed.

Nick met his eyes evenly. "Not gonna lie, man, I will do anything to protect her, even from you. Especially from you. It almost broke her when you left." Nick held up a hand to cut off Peter's protest. "I know you didn't want to. I know she fucked up, but that doesn't change how much damage it did to her. To both of us. I'm not going to let that happen again."

"Whether I stay or not, she's still going to go through it again. Unless you're going to force me to stay, I don't see any way around that."

Nick dropped his eyes.

"What?" The frown that creased Peter's forehead deepened. "Why do you want me to leave so quickly?"

Nick refused to look up. His voice was quiet. "I can manipulate her short term memory. She won't remember even seeing you."

"Jesus." Peter ran his shaky fingers through his hair. "You'd do that to her?"

Nick's eyes snapped up then, cold and hard and Peter took a step back from him. "Fuck you. You don't know what it was like. She couldn't do anything, she couldn't function and I wasn't strong enough to hold her together on my own. They were going to take us out of the program, cut their losses and study their mistakes. I had to think about the best way to kill her and then myself so they couldn't use us."

"Nick…" Tears welled in Peter's eyes.

"I was going to shoot her." He lifted his hand and pantomimed the motion against his temple. "Do as much damage to her brain as possible. I've seen what they do to soldiers who can't be trusted in the field. They dig though their minds and get everything they can, and throw them away when they're done. I won't let them do that to her and I'm not going to make her go though loosing you again, so yes. I'd do that to her. I'd do it to myself if I could figure out how."

Peter brought his fist to his mouth, pressing his knuckles against his lips. He clenched his eyes shut and tears spilled down his cheeks.

Nick stared at the skinny, shaking creature that used to be his friend and felt tears on his own cheeks. "Peter, I don't want you to leave, but you need to go now if you're going."

"What the fuck would I even do if I did come back? I'm a junkie and a thief. I didn't finish the fucking training. What the fuck good would I be?" Peter backed against the wall and slid to the floor. "I should have died with Walter."

Nick sank to his knees and scrubbed the tears from his cheeks. Peter was shaking his head back and forth, just slightly. Nick thought he probably wasn't even aware of the motion.

"I can't. Please, I can't leave again."

The tile hurt his knees as he crawled towards Peter. He was shaking when Nick wrapped his arms around him.

"Please. I miss her. I miss you. Don't make me leave again."

Nick tried to push comfort and calm to him, but the emotions slid off the wall between them. Peter sobbed in his arms, incoherent now, and even without the tug of feeling Peter's emotions in him mind, Nick was crying, too.

Nick settled against the wall with Peter against his chest, sprawled half on his lap, half off. From the other room he could feel Olive crying. Nick rubbed his hand over Peter's back feeling the knobs of his spine through his thin shirt. Nick lost track of time, unsure how long it was before Peter's sobs died down. Nick shifted on the cold floor. Peter pulled away from him and scrubbed at his face with one hand.

"I'm going to call in, get a car to take us back. Take a shower, you reek. You can wear something of mine."

"I've got clothes, asshole." Peter sniffled miserably.

Nick rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Whatever, Peter, just go take a shower."

Peter retrieved his backpack from the other room and dropped it to the floor. Loose change clattered on the counter when he emptied his pockets. He stripped off his clothes, wincing at the sight of the mottled bruises along his ribs. He wondered if someday he'd learn to keep his stupid mouth shut. He leaned against the counter and peered into his own bloodshot eyes.

The water was a hot as he could stand it, coursing over him and running dingy gray for the first few minutes. He watched it gurgle down the drain, and thought it was perhaps a little heavy-handed for a metaphor. Washing away one life to start another.

Or more accurately, to return to another.

After he'd left Boston, he'd fled blindly. In a sense, he'd never stopped, running as much from the people who murdered his father as the organization he'd been raised in.

He braced his hands against the wall and clenched his teeth against a wave of nausea. He was starting to ache, and even under the stream of hot water he felt chilled, almost shivering.

There was a brief knock on the door, then Nick opened it. "Clothes, dude. I'll put 'em on the counter."

"Yeah."

The door snicked shut again and Peter turned his face upward, wincing as the water burned his eyelids. He told himself the tears were from the heat. When he couldn't stand it anymore he scrubbed himself clean with one of the absurdly soft washcloths.

The room was steamy when he stepped out of the shower. The clothes Nick had left him were a set of dark gray sweats with a ragged hole in one knee. Peter pulled the pants on, ignoring the boxers that were on the counter. He prodded his bruised ribs absently.

Peter riffled though his backpack, fishing under his clothes and a few dog-eared paperbacks until he found the battered pencil tin at the bottom. He popped the tin open and rattled the few needles and the blackened spoon back and forth. The little envelope had a couple grams in it, the fruits of his labors from panhandling and pickpocketing his way through the theater district a few nights in a row. He tapped out a little pile of gray powder into the spoon.

Peter stared at the rest of his stash, and it wasn't the first time he considered using it all at once. He figured it wouldn't be a bad way to go. By the time he started ODing, he'd be too far gone to care. The spoon clinked softly when he sat it down next to the sink. He leaned against the counter, pressing his hands against the cold marble before reaching for his lighter.

Nick dropped the phone back to the table and took a breath to steady himself.

"A car's coming?"

Olive's voice was soft, barely registering over the sound of water from the bathroom. Nick sat on the bed next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah. They're coming from the office here. Be like twenty minutes."

She nodded and leaned into him. "It's not even possible"

Nick frowned. "It's just coming from the downtown office."

"No, Peter. What are the chances we'd find him? Just run into him in Central Park."

Nick shrugged and pulled her closer. "Dunno." He thought about it for a moment. "Maybe you wanted to find him?"

"No," she said, and the word was clipped.

"Not consciously, but maybe there was still some kind of connection there."

She made a little negative sound and looked towards the bathroom where the water shut off. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Nick shook his head. "We can't leave him here alone again."

She reached up and laced her fingers through his. "What are they going to do to him, though?"

"I'm not sure."

Her voice was barely a whisper. "I won't let them hurt him."

"I know."

She turned towards Nick and buried her face against him. Nick kissed her forehead. "It'll be okay, Olive."

She nodded and pulled away, tilting her face towards his with a shaky smile. He brushed a quick kiss over her lips before leaning his forehead against hers. He pressed gently against the gossamer wall between them, waiting for her to let him in before sliding warmth and comfort over their connection.

Olive winced slightly at a distant pain, then her eyes went wide. Even through the wall between her and Peter, Nick could feel the rush of euphoria, the hot spike of pure pleasure. Nick scrambled away from her, nearly running to the bathroom to throw open the door. Peter grinned up at him from his seat on the floor, needle still dangling from his arm.

"Jesus Christ, you didn't overdose did you?"

Nick dropped to his knees in front of Peter, pulling the needle free and pressing a wad of toilet paper to the bend of his arm. "Peter!"

Peter's eyes focused for a moment, intense blue around pinprick pupils.

"How much did you use?"

"Enough." Peter blinked slowly. "It's cool. I'm fine."

Nick hauled him roughly to his feet, grabbing the sweatshirt off the counter and shoving it into Peter's hands. "Get dressed. The car's on its way."

Nick shoved the last of Olive's clothing into the suitcase. She was sitting next to it, watching but silent. She hadn't complained that he hadn't folded anything. Her eyes matched Peter's, tiny black dots surrounded by pale jade, his high bleeding through the wall to her mind. Peter was curled up in a chair across the room, not looking at either one of them. He was swallowed up by Nick's sweatshirt, staring blankly out the window where late afternoon sunlight was painting the city golden.

On the side table, Nick's pager started to vibrate, chattering against the dark wood. He zipped Olive's bag shut and sat it next to her.

"Time to go."

Olive rose automatically, slung her bag over her shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on the floor.

"Peter. Come on."

His head rolled against the arm of his chair, looking at Nick upside down. "What?"

"Get up. We're leaving."

He blinked slowly at Nick but stayed in the chair. Nick crossed the room and pulled him to his feet, careful not to touch his skin.

"Hey. Let the fuck go of me."

"The car's here, Peter. It's time to leave."

After a moment Peter scooped up his backpack and trailed after Olive towards the door. The rode the elevator down in silence and Nick headed through the lobby to the black sedan parked just outside the front door. The driver nodded to him.

"Mr. Lane. Ms. Dunham."

Olive threw her bag in the trunk and got in the front seat, slamming the door.

"Guess she gets shotgun." Peter looked shaky and slightly green.

Nick took his backpack and put it in the trunk along with his own back. "You're not gonna puke in the car, are you?"

"Time will tell."

Nick rubbed his temples.

"Fuck."

The sky was starting to darken, dull red bleeding across the sky. Nick stared out of the tinted window and fought the urge to sigh. Again.

Olive was slouched in the front seat of the car, hunkered down far enough that she was barely visible. She'd raised the privacy glass immediately and not glanced towards the backseat since they left New York. The wall she was using to block off her emotions was just as effective.

Across the car, Peter was leaning against the door, as far away from Nick as possible. Nick swept his mind towards him again, feeling around the space where Peter's emotions should be, but there was just a strange, Peter-shaped hole. It wasn't even like Peter was hiding; he just wasn't there. However Olive had used her ability to cut Peter off from them, it was more than Nick could bypass easily.

Peter pushed one sleeve up and scratched at his wrist. Nick stared at the bruises at the crook of Peter's arm. "How long have you been shooting up?"

Nick didn't think Peter was going to answer, but eventually he turned his head away from the window. "What the fuck do you care?"

Nick shoved his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and turned back to the window. "Fine. Whatever." Nick huddled in on himself, nursing the hurt he felt. Across the car, Peter cleared his throat.

"I just do it off and on. It helps, a little." Peter pulled his sleeve back down and tucked his hand in the cuff. "I mean, it doesn't actually help, but it makes me at least not care."

Nick turned a little in the seat so he could face Peter. "Have you been in New York this whole time?"

"No, I went to Chicago first. I don't fucking know why. I always sort of thought I'd keep going, go farther west, but I never did. I uh. I sort of fucked up there and had to leave pretty fast, and this guy I know was going to New York, so I went with him." Peter flicked his eyes over to Nick. "You were on vacation?"

"No. Well, sort of. We'd been um… working. And we were done, so we took a couple days off."

Peter's voice was flat. "Working."

"Yeah."

"You." Peter frowned. "You actually work for them, like how they trained us? You're soldiers?"

Nick's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Well, yeah. What else would we be?"

"It's fucking crazy, you know. The whole spiel about how they're saving the world." Peter leaned across the car and pointed at Nick. "Bell's a lunatic, and so was Walter."

"That's not true, Peter."

"Bullshit. They wrote that stupid book while they were tripping, and now they've got you running around doing their dirty work for them."

"So why are you coming back with us?"

"Fuck you."

Nick slumped in back in his seat.

Peter fidgeted with his seatbelt. "So… what were you working on?"

Nick stared at the back of Olive's seat. "We needed some information about something."

"That's nice and vague."

"Peter, I know you were my friend. I know you're supposed to be doing this with us, but I don't even know you anymore. I don't know if I can trust you."

"Nice, talking to me about trust. You think I'm ever going to trust her?"

"You have to. We can't work with you unless we can trust each other again."

Peter watched Nick across the car. After a while Peter said, "You're different."

"No shit?"

"What did they do to you?"

Nick was quiet for a long time, looking out the window at passing cars. "Nothing. We just… grew up, I guess. We're soldiers now."

They were both quiet for the rest of the trip.

The ZFT compound outside of Boston was settled on a sprawling estate. The adjacent boarding school housed their training facilities. Nick supposed that on the surface it looked completely normal. The car crunched to a stop on the gravel driveway.

Nick looked across the backseat of the car, out the side window where a group of doctors was gathering, flanked by guards. For a moment he could feel Peter's mind, the terror remembered from their childhoods, before the link dissolved into chaos and broke again. Peter was scooting away from the door, all the way across the seat to pressing against Nick's side.

"I can't. I can't do this."

Nick caught Peter's hand, trapping it under his own against the smooth leather of the car seat. "It's too late, Peter. You don't have any choice now." Nick pushed calm, lethargy over the staticky link, pushed though the shards of terror and pain and Peter slumped back on the seat. Nick leaned close to him and got his arms under Peter's limp form. He could feel Olive sobbing in the front seat. "I'm sorry."

He hauled Peter out of the car and handed him off the one of the orderlies. The swarm of doctors disappeared into the building, trailed by the guards. Nick stared after them and felt more lost than he had in years. Their handler was closing fast, but Nick waved him off. He could not deal with the bureaucracy of the organization right now. The debriefing for their last assignment would just have to wait. Olive was out of the front seat and pulling him towards the car. He followed a few steps before stopping. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Nick?" Her eyes were wide, afraid and Nick's chest hurt.

"It's probably better if we stay here."

"No. No, Nick, please."

Nick stepped close to her and wrapped her in a hug. He slid his hand under her hair to curve around the back of her neck and pulled her close. "It's just for tonight, to make sure Peter's okay."

She shook her head, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her tears felt hot against his skin, and her fear clawed at his mind. He distanced himself from her thoughts, not closing off, but putting enough space between them that she wasn't overwhelming him. She clutched at his shirt and whimpered into his skin. "I wanna go home."

"I know, Olive. I know. We need to stay here, though."

He could feel he fine tremors running through her. So far they'd made good on their promise that they'd never stay at the compound again, even for a night, but he didn't see any way around it. He tightened his arms around her before heading inside.

Olive stared out over the grassy field behind the building that served as the compound's medical facility and hospital. It was dark, but moonlight flooded the field, giving it a dreamlike quality. She thought it was well after midnight and exhaustion beginning to wear her down. Behind a line a trees she could just see the boarding school where she and Nick had spent their childhoods.

She frowned. Peter, too, although he'd spent far less time there. Peter had always had Walter, and Walter had tried to protect Peter from the worst of the testing and training.

She and Nick had holed up in a room at the far end of the building, as far away from Peter as possible. She felt trapped. She knew Nick was right about them needing to stay, but it didn't make it any easier to be there. The mental wall wavered for a moment, and Peter's terror spilled over to her, drawing a little keening sound from her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on keeping him out, but before she could do anything, the wall reasserted itself. When she prodded it, it was solid and unyielding. The fear lingered in her mind, though, and she wanted to storm through the building and make them stop hurting him.

Nick was juggling sandwiches and sodas when he flung the door open. "Olive?"

She shook her head and stared down at the windowsill.

She heard him sitting plates onto the little desk that was in the room, heard the snap of him opening cans of soda. He stepped up behind her and rubbed his hand across her lower back. "You should eat something before we go to bed."

Olive looked behind her at the sandwiches and smiled at the one with the crusts cut off. "I'm not really hungry."

"I know, but you haven't eaten since this morning."

She tilted her head at him.

"Come on, please?"

She smiled at him and let him lead her over to the bed. She sat cross-legged and took a plate when he handed it to her. She took a bite of the sandwich, but it tasted like ash. Olive pulled the slices of turkey out of the sandwich and nibbled on them.

There was a knock on the door, and Nick called, "It's open."

"Hey, guys, you still awake?"

Clive Gaston was, as far as these things went, not a bad handler. He wasn't overly intrusive into their work, and didn't really care about details, as long as they completed their assignments. Olive thought he was squeamish, but really, he wasn't bad.

Clive pulled the chair away from the desk and sat near the bed, tapping the file against his leg. "Good work on Statham."

Olive stared at her disassembled sandwich and Nick nodded at him.

"Any problems?"

"Nah. Straightforward. We dosed him with Imfedarel before we left. Housekeeping's probably found him already, called the EMTs."

Olive didn't raise her head but flicked her eyes towards Clive. "We've got the name of his source, or at least the name his source gave him. Details about their meetings."

Nick picked up where she stopped. "His name is Duston Devon and Olive's right, it's probably a pseud. We've got a description that's sort of vague, and some details that are sort of interesting. Statham thought Devon was sick, and gave us a rundown of the symptoms. They're sort of generic, but we can probably work that angle.

"Great. I'll get that in, and make a recommendation that one of the other teams pick this up."

Nick felt Olive bristle and her head snapped up. "This is _our_ assignment."

"Of course, but given the circumstances…"

"No."

Her tone was flat. Nick tried to push restraint over their connection. He wished they'd had a chance to talk before their handler cornered them. They might argue between themselves, and they might occasionally think the other to be completely, utterly wrong, but they'd never show division to their handler or anyone else in the organization.

She ignored him and said, "We can finish this."

Clive watched her a moment. Their handlers were trained to keep their thoughts to themselves, and Gaston was pretty good at it. Nick felt only a whisper of uncertainty before he nodded. "Alright, but if you need any backup, let me know." He looked around the little room. "Are you guys okay in here? I can get someone to set up an apartment in the guest building if you want."

"We're fine," Olive snapped.

Clive held out his hands. "Okay. Just checking."

Nick watched as he retreated from the room and waited until the sound of his footsteps faded. "Ol. He was just trying to help."

"We don't need his help." She was picking the bread from her sandwich apart, tiny crumbs littering her plate. Another wave of terror swept over she connection to Peter and she clenched her eyes shut. "What are they doing to him?"

Nick shook his head. "Tests. He's probably starting to withdraw pretty badly."

She pushed the plate away from her. "It hurts."

"You can feel him again?"

"Sort of. Not really, but… it's not like it was, not like how I can feel you." She shoved her plate away from her as nausea clawed at her stomach.

Nick took the plate and stacked it on top of his on the desk before he crawled on to the bed. He settled on the bed beside her and she leaned into his arms.

"This is going to suck, isn't it?"

Nick brushed her hair back for her face and tucked it behind one ear. "Yeah, probably."

"I remember what it was like when he was here, but it seems like so long ago."

"We'll get back there again."

Olive's voice was quiet. "What if I don't want to go back there? I only want you to be able to get into my head."

Nick slipped his hand under her shirt and rubbed her back, moving his hand in circles over her skin. "I don't think you're going to have a choice. What you did, cutting him off, I think that only held so well because of the distance. It's not going to stay now that he's back."

"Yeah. I know."

Nick kissed her temple. "We'll figure out how to make it work."

She smiled. "I know."

Nick pulled her down so they were lying face to face on the bed.

"Try to get some sleep?"

"If I go to sleep, I'm going to dream what they're doing to him."

"Just try? I'll be here if you have his nightmares."

Olive smiled and let her eyes slip closed. "I know that, too."

The room was warm, and blissfully dark. Peter was a little foggy on what exactly had happened to him in the last forty-eight hours. A lot foggy, honestly. He wasn't even really sure how long it had been since Nick had kidnapped him from Central Park. Everything since then blurred together. He'd been prodded by more doctors than he could count, been asked endless question by dour men in dark suits. His withdrawal symptoms had gotten worse with each question until he was begging incoherently for something he couldn't even name. Distantly he thought he could feel echos of pain from Olive as the wall frayed and rebuilt itself in turn. The whole thing had a nightmarish quality that made him wonder if any of it was real.

Eventually they'd left him in a hospital room where he'd sobbed himself into a fitful sleep, jolted awake so frequently by the pain and the horrible nausea that he doubted whether he'd really slept at all. Peter was sure he was dying. Absolutely sure, and he wondered if this is what they wanted all along, to get him killed horribly.

"You're not dying, dude."

Peter looked out from under the blankets he'd pulled over his head. His throat burned from throwing up so much. "Fuck you, Nick."

Nick was sprawled in one of the chairs near the bed, wearing a rumpled set of gray scrubs. "You want some juice? I got you some apple juice. You still like that?"

"Oh, what the fuck?" Peter curled into a ball on his side and pulled the blanket tighter around him. "I don't want any fucking juice. I want some fucking heroin, so unless you have any, you can fuck right off." He shivered violently.

"Hey, cheer up, man, you should be on the downhill side of the withdrawal symptoms by now."

"They're doing this to torture me, aren't they?"

Nick sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. "Yeah, sort of. They're monitoring your responses to the withdrawal symptoms. Pain tolerance, that sort of thing. Brings back memories of our blissful childhoods, huh?"

"God, go away."

"Sorry, man, you're stuck with me." Nick shook the little bottle of apple juice and held it out. "You're dehydrated from puking so much. Drink this or they're going to put in an IV."

Peter glared at him, but pushed himself upright anyway. He crossed his legs under him and sat huddled under the blankets. "If I drink that, I'm going to throw it right back up."

"Just drink a little of it." Nick stretched out a little more, moving the bottle well within Peter's reach.

Peter's hand shook when he reached for the bottle. He managed a few sips before capping the bottle again and letting it drop to his lap. He squinted around the dark room.

"What time is it?"

Nick glanced at his watch. "Early."

A frown creased Peter's forehead.

"What day is it?"

"Tuesday. You've been out of it for a while."

Peter hugged his arms around his stomach and rocked a little as a wave of cramps rolled through his body. "You've been here the whole time?"

"Not here here, but yeah, I've been around. We both have."

"I figured you'd dump me off and go home." Peter toyed with the blanket, running his fingers over the smooth satin that bound the edge. "I mean… do you still live here? You don't, right?"

"No, we've got an apartment in town."

Peter nodded. "I'm going to have to live here, aren't I?"

"For a while," Nick said. "In a few days they'll move you out of the hospital and into one of the apartments here. You'll have therapy and training, be evaluated until they're reasonably sure they can trust you in the field."

"Just like that."

Nick shrugged. "Nah, I left out all the bits that suck. Oh, no, wait; I mentioned the therapy and evaluation. Have fun with that. The training's probably not going to be much fun, either."

Peter hugged his arms around him and clenched his eyes shut.

"Hurt?"

"Yeah, my arms. I hate this."

"You want me to try to get them to give you something?"

"Would they?"

Nick made a face. "No, probably not, but I'd try anyway."

Peter shook his head and lay back down. He stared across the small space at Nick. "Just… stay here?" He cleared his throat against the tightness in it. "I don't want to be alone here."

"Yeah, Peter, I'll stay."


	2. October

The moment he woke up was usually one of Nick's favorite things. Nestled under the covers of his and Olive's bed, in the tiny apartment where they'd carved out their own space, their own home, Nick always felt safe. When they were sleeping, the walls between their minds blurred to near nonexistence and he could feel her presence like a warm weight against his thoughts.

In the weeks since Peter's return, everything had been thrown off balance, and the routines he and Olive had crafted fell apart.

Peter's withdrawal and rehab had left Olive hateful and sympathetic in turns, her mood whiplashing as Peter's symptoms bled over their intermittent connection. Whether she wanted to or not, her need to protect Peter ran deep, and Nick was exhausting himself trying to keep her level.

When she wasn't blocking him completely in an effort to keep Peter out of her head, that is.

Just because she wanted to protect him didn't mean she was ready to let him roam though her thoughts when their connection solidified itself.

Today his mind felt cold and empty. Nick blinked his eyes open slowly and squinted in the dim light of the bedroom. Olive was lying next to him, staring up at the ceiling. He got the feeling that she'd been doing that for a while. He brushed his fingers over her shoulder.

"Hey."

A little smile pulled at her lips, but she didn't turn her head. Her voice was soft. "Hey."

"You get much sleep?"

She frowned a little. "Yeah. Some."

"Ol," he said, slightly chiding.

She rolled on to her side. "I can't keep him out when I'm asleep."

"You can't stay awake forever." Nick inched forward and draped his arm over her waist.

She smirked at him. "I can try."

Nick touched the tip of her nose, then cupped her face. He rubbed his thumb along her cheek and her eyes fluttered shut under his touch. The suggestion of sleep was gentle, slipped along their connection in the hope that she wouldn't push him away. She was pliant under his thoughts for a moment, easing into him. Across the space of her mind, he felt her connection to Peter, felt his frustration and irritation before Olive snapped her walls up and shoved him out.

"Don't. I need to get up."

Nick sighed unhappily and retreated. "You need to get some sleep."

"Tonight, okay?"

Nick frowned. "Yeah, okay. You want me to make breakfast? We could do crepes or something."

"Um. No. I'm gonna go to the gym."

"Olive, you need to eat."

"I will."

"When?"

She opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. She pushed herself out of bed, and Nick flopped on his back. He rolled his head to the side and watched her as she moved across the dark room to the closet.

She dressed quickly, methodical movements that belied her usual grace. Nick followed her out of the room and caught her just before she got to the front door.

"Olive." He pulled her close and she brought her arms up, a barrier between them. Nick leaned into her, his forehead resting against hers. She stayed ridged for a moment before melting against him, sliding her arms around his chest and burying her face into his neck.

"I hate this." Her voice was choked like she was fighting tears.

"I know, Ol."

After a moment, she pulled away, wiping her cheeks. "Tell me it's gonna get better."

Nick curled his fingers under her chin. "It will. I promise." He kissed her and Olive smiled against his mouth.

"I'm still going to the gym."

He grinned. "Okay." His face sobered as he took in the dark circles under her eyes. "It's hard for him, too."

She leaned into Nick and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her words were muffled against his chest. "I know. He hates being there."

"You should come with me this afternoon and go see him."

"No." Olive shook her head.

"You can't avoid him forever."

"It's not that." She pulled away from him. "I hate being there, too."

Nick kissed her forehead, and she could feel him rolling around an idea in his mind. "Would it be okay if he came here? Like for dinner or something?"

Olive bit back her immediate response and considered the question. From the moment they'd moved into it, they'd made the little apartment their sanctuary. It was home, and they kept the organization away from it as best they could. Handlers were met elsewhere, and they flat out refused to let them through the door. It has caused considerable fiction at first, but their success in the field bought them enough room to bargain for their independence.

Olive remembered what it was like before they had the apartment, before they had anywhere of their own. She rubbed her thumb over the back of Nick's hand and nodded.

"Yeah." She smiled when she looked up at him. "Yeah, dinner would be okay."

Nick was rummaging in the fridge when someone knocked on the door. He swept his mind towards the hallway, and a surprised little smile tugged at his lips. He ran a hand over his head, trying to smooth his short hair into submission before opening the door.

"Mr. Lane."

"Ms. Sharp. This is unexpected." Nick stepped back. "Please come in. Can I get you something to drink?"

Nina patted his cheek as she passed him. "Always so polite. Has any of that rubbed off on Olive yet?"

"Oh, Olive can be polite if she wants to." He smirked. "She just never wants to."

Nick held out a chair at the kitchen table. Nina's smile faded as she sat and looked up at Nick. "How is Olive doing?"

Nick busied himself making tea, letting the familiar motions calm his thoughts. After a while he turned. "I don't know. Some days are better than others."

"How are they progressing as far as their… ah…" Nina waved one hand.

Nick sat across from Nina, sliding a teacup across the table to her. "Connection. Yeah, not so hot. They're both fighting it. Well, Olive's fighting it. I'm not really sure if Peter's aware that he's blocking her. He doesn't really seem to remember how it used to work." Nick rolled his cup against the table, swirling the tea.

"And his connection to you?"

He lifted a shoulder. "It doesn't really work like that. I get to him though Olive, and if she's keeping him out, she's keeping me out, too."

"That must be difficult."

Nick kept his expression blank. "Nina, why are you here? I've been reporting all this to our handler and to Peter's case worker."

"The reports are a little impersonal, don't you think?" Nina fidgeted with her teacup. "I've been worried about you. About all of you, quite honestly, but I know that it is especially trying for you when Olive is less than stable. Your partnership with her and Peter has always been unique. Understanding how Peter's return is going to affect you is… quite frankly, it's not something we're able to do. I wanted to see that you are coping with the changes."

"You want to make sure I'm not loosing it. Just say it, Nina. You want to know if we're going to break again." Nick couldn't keep the harshness from his voice.

There was a flash of shocked anger at being called out so directly, then her emotions wavered back into the impassive wall he was so used to feeling from her. For someone with no formal training, Nina's control of her emotions was impressive. Even with that control, Nick could see sorrow in her eyes.

"Sorry, Nina. I didn't…"

"No." She reached across the table and took his hand. It was her real hand, and the gesture of opening herself to him made his throat tight. "You do not have to apologize for anything, Mr. Lane. Not to me."

She squeezed his hand once, hard, then stood. "I apologize for interrupting your morning. Please do give Olive my regards."

Nick followed her to the door and braced his hand on it over her shoulder, trapping her.

"Nina, we're okay. We'll be okay. Thank you for checking on us."

Nina squared her shoulders before turning. "Of course."

Nick leaned against the door after he closed it, listening to her footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Peter leaned against the window and stared out to the distant trees that ringed the ZFT's property. It seemed like the trees had changed color over night, bursting into bright yellow while he slept. In reality, he'd been disoriented by the isolation of the medical facility. The facility was a warren of bright underground rooms that gave no hint as to the time of day. He added it to the list of things he hated about being trapped by the ZFT again.

At least here, looking though a window at the newly-turned fall foliage, he had a sense of liberty.

Even if it was clearly false.

As his withdrawal symptoms waned, Peter grew restless. Roaming out from his room got him as far as the end of the hallway before an armed security guard turned him back. The other direction held a nurse's station and a rec room. Peter seemed to be the only patient; the other five rooms on the floor were empty.

They'd been doing an awful lot of medical testing on him, even now that they weren't keeping him confined to the hospital. Despite his questions, they rarely explained themselves. Nick's assurance that he was valuable and that his well-being was in their best interests was little comfort.

He had, after all, done this before. He remembered well enough from his childhood what it was like to be a ZFT guinea pig.

He'd been dreading the thought of being dosed with Cortexiphan again, finally flat out asked his keepers when that would be happening. His relief at being told his was well past the age where the drug had any measurable effect had been overwhelming. He'd held it together long enough to get back to his room, then sobbed in relief, even while guilt curled its way through his mind. He'd never been treated as heavily with the drug as Nick and Olive had. Compared to them, he'd gotten off lightly, as far as chemical alterations went. He'd seen its effects on them. He'd felt it ghosting along their connection as one or both of them shivered in his arms, terrified of their own minds. The thought that his father had been at least partially responsible brought a familiar sickness that settled in the pit of his stomach.

He pushed away from the window and turned to the books that were stacked on the desk. It was an odd mixture of self-help and business management, with a few books on military tactics thrown in. And a copy of the book, the delusional rantings of his father and William Bell. He'd thrown it away a few times, but they kept putting it back on the desk, and it prompted his therapist to ask endless questions about how he felt about Walter, so he stopped doing that.

He'd stopped doing just about everything. His therapy sessions consisted of him ignoring the doctor. When they herded him to the gym for physical therapy he did the bare minimum to keep them happy. He didn't even try to pass the tests. He was lonely and miserable and couldn't wrap his mind around that this was what Nick and Olive's entire childhoods had been like.

But they'd had each other. Even with Nick's almost daily visits, Peter felt utterly alone.

He reached along the path through his mind to Olive, but he couldn't get to her. He just slid up against a cold wall.

A very near cold wall, and Peter looked up at the door a moment before she knocked.

"It's open, Olivia."

She stayed near the door and watched him with wary eyes. She was wearing dark jeans and a long sleeved gray t-shirt. Peter tried to ignore how well both hugged the curves of her body, baffled as to when the skinny tomboy he remember had turned into someone else.

"Stay out of my head."

Peter's laugh was bitter. "I'm not in your head. I can't even get there anymore."

"Good." She crossed her arms in front of her and scowled.

Peter didn't bother hide his irritation. "Why are you here?"

"They're worried."

He dropped onto the end of the bed and flopped backwards, staring up at the ceiling. "So fucking what?"

"Nick's worried."

Peter tried to edge closer to her again, brushing up against the wall at the edge of her thoughts.

"Stop that."

Peter pulled his thoughts back in and wrapped his arms around himself. "What do you want, Olivia?"

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and stared at her feet.

"Nick made you come see me."

Her eyes darted up to his and a lighting quick smile lifted her lips before she went somber again. She nodded and looked around the room, before dropping her eyes back to her feet.

"Well, this is going to be fun." Peter pushed himself up, braced on his elbows and narrowed his eyes. "You think they'll let me out of the building if you go with me?"

Olive's eyes were wide and startled when she looked up again. "They don't let you outside?"

"Not alone, and heavily armed guards don't make for very good company."

Olive frowned.

"Come on, Olivia, I just want to get out of here for a little while."

"Where do you want to go?"

"I dunno. I'm starving. Let's go eat."

The diner was not what Peter was expecting.

Olive had torn away from the compound, tires of her Outback spitting gravel on the long driveway. She'd avoided larger highways, and sped along winding roads, taking turns fast enough to make Peter almost wish he'd stayed at the compound. They'd shot on to blacktop in a tiny town, and pulled up in front of a hardware store that had been converted into a restaurant.

The, "Hi, honey," Olive got from the waitress carried a familiarity that surprised Peter, as did the casual acceptance of Olive's incredibly picky salad order. Peter opted for a double barbecue cheeseburger with chili fries and a chocolate milk shake and earned a disgusted face from Olive. They sat in awkward silence until the waitress brought their food.

Peter watched as Olive picked the chunks of tomato out of her salad and lined them up on the edge of her plate.

"You eat like a neurotic rabbit."

She glanced at his plate. "You eat like a fucking pig."

Peter licked a blob of barbecue sauce off his thumb. "Not my fault the ZFT still can't find someone who knows how to cook."

The corner of her mouth twitched up in a smile. She stabbed a slice of radish with her fork and crunched on it thoughtfully.

"When they move you to one of the apartments, you'll have a little kitchen to use."

"That's not going to be much of an improvement." Peter mopped up some chili with the last of his fries. "So, you and Nick are together now? Like… really together."

Olive froze, fork hovering halfway to her mouth. She nodded, then said, "Yeah."

"How long…?"

"Before." She trailed off, but Peter understood. Before everything fell apart.

She cleared her throat. "Not by much, though. And after, when things were really bad we weren't… It took a while for things to be normal again."

"You guys are normal?"

Her eyes darted up to his, narrowed in anger, then softened at his smile. "As close as we can get, I guess." She nudged one of the tomatoes with her fork. "I guess we've sort of always been together, though. I'm not sure we could have ended up any other way."

Peter drew the hurt he felt at that close to himself, hiding his pain from her. He'd been there too, alongside both of them, paired with them for as long as he could remember.

But never quite with them, not like they were to each other. Walter had tried to protect him, and not for the first time, Peter wondered if that had done more harm than good.

"Did you even miss me?"

Olive's eyes were wide and startled when she looked up, and the open pain on her face was like a fist in Peter's stomach. She went impassive quickly, tamping down the spikes of hurt that were slipping past her walls. She had money out and thrown on to the table before Peter could blink, was striding out of the diner before he could react.

Peter scrambled after her, panic that she was going to abandon him there making him jittery. She was pacing the sidewalk, away from her car. Peter caught her hand and pulled her to a stop. The wave of guilt that roiled off of her was sickening, tinged with self-loathing that made tears well in Peter's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Olivia, I'm so sorry." Peter wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for. He wrapped his arms around Olive and pulled her to him in a hug. She stiffened and he felt panic spike off of her for a moment, before everything dissolved into miserable chaos. He pushed at the wall between them, and this close, with her in his arms, fighting back sobs, the wall split under the pressure. Her arms slid to his waist, then tightened almost painfully around him.

Peter felt then how tired she was, the effort of keeping herself and Nick stable nearly crushing her. He felt Nick's guilt about that as a ghostly echo in her mind. He felt her aching need for stability, and recognized the same in himself, a need he'd ignored ruthlessly.

When she spoke, her voice was a harsh whisper. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Peter brushed Olive's hair back from her face. Her eyes were puffy and red. "I know."

"I remember how things were, but I don't know how to get back there."

Peter rested his chin on the top of her head. The clean, well-remembered scent of her hair made him ache for when things were better. "I don't think we can. Too much has changed."

Olive made an unhappy little sound into his chest before she pulled away from him and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.

"We should probably go back."

He nodded and stayed quiet on the drive back to the compound. Olive followed him back in the building, trailing behind him like a ghost. Peter felt, distantly, her reluctance to leave him there. Eventually she turned away, choosing Nick over him, and Peter understood that it would always be like that.

Nick flung the door open and grinned at Peter. "You have trouble finding the place?"

"No. I can read directions, you know."

Nick stepped back to let Peter in the apartment and clapped Peter on the shoulder. "Glad you came tonight, man."

Peter shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Didn't have much else going on."

Olive paused in the hallway and gave Peter a little wave. "Hey, Peter." Despite her agreeing that this was a good idea, Peter actually being in their apartment made her feel sullen and territorial.

"Hey." He nodded at her and looked around the apartment. It looked… normal, he thought. Slightly cluttered with books and papers. A huge TV sat across from a battered couch. If you ignored the handgun that was on the coffee table and the assault riffle standing in the corner, it looked like a couple college kids lived there.

Nick rattled a Pep Boys bag. "I'm going to run this down to the bike."

Olive glanced up and Nick tried to ignore the stab of irritation that spiked off of her.

"Back in a few minutes."

Olive ducked her head and retreated to the kitchen. She wished their apartment were bigger so she could get farther away from Peter. It felt like he was taking up al the space in the room, crowding her with thoughts that pressed against the edge of her mind. She scowled at the stove and dumped the tomatoes into the saucepan where they hissed momentarily before settling down to a simmer. Peter crossed the small space and Olive resisted the urge to go back into the living room.

He leaned against the counter next to the stove. "So you cook now?"

She shrugged. The sauce where it bubbled, changing from red to orange, was a warm buzzing sound. After a moment she looked up at him.

"Nick cooks."

"And you… what? You're the bitchiest sous chef on the plant?"

She lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug and stirred the sauce just to have something to do.

"Nick likes to be around people. He thinks it's good for us. We're supposed to have jobs as part of our cover. Normal jobs. He likes to work as a chef."

"What do you like to do?"

She frowned down at the countertop and he could feel her reluctance to talk to him even through the wall she tried to keep up between them. It was getting harder to maintain that barrier and Peter thought he could slip around it completely if he wanted to. He also thought she'd probably kill him if he did. Still, he couldn't resist pressing against the edge of her thoughts.

She shrugged again and looked at the front door. "I like numbers. There's an accounting place that I work at. Like as an assistant. I come in through a temp agency so it's not weird if I have to disappear for a while for an assignment. I do the spreadsheet stuff that no one else wants to do because they think it's boring. Data entry and analysis, mostly. I like it. I like how the numbers make patterns and you can see trends and stuff. You can see how the businesses work and where they're doing things wrong and wasting money. Not that they ever listen or anything, but the patterns are still there."

Peter gaped at her a little and she glared back. "What?"

"I think that the most words you've spoken to me at once since we were sixteen."

The sorrow that rolled off of her was nearly a tangible thing, circling around them in the tiny kitchen, and Peter immediately regretted bringing it up.

She turned the heat down on the stove. "I don't talk much to anyone. Just Nick."

He watched her face, the little frown that creased her forehead.

"Olivia, I'm sorry."

She chuffed out a short laugh and her voice was a low whisper. "Peter, stop apologizing to me. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't do anything right, either."

She turned towards him. "I don't think any of us did."

Peter fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and glanced at the door. "How long is he gonna stay out in the parking lot?"

The smile that tugged at Olive's lips was wry. "He's not in the parking lot. He's in the hallway."

"Oh. Not going too far in case we try to kill each other?"

"Something like that."

Peter tossed the PlayStation controller onto the coffee table where it bounced off the gun before coming to a rest on top of a stack of papers. "Goddammit."

From the couch on the other side of Nick, Olive snickered. "You suck at this."

"Shut up, Olivia," Peter said. "I don't see you offering to play against him."

Olive waved her hand at the TV. "This game? No way."

"I'm tired of beating your ass, anyway." Nick stood and stretched. "You wanna a drink?"

"Got any scotch?" Peter looked up hopefully.

Olive wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so. I think we have some peach schnapps."

Peter shook his head. "Olivia, there is no circumstance where peach schnapps is an acceptable substitute for scotch."

Nick called the door to the bathroom, "There's beer in the fridge."

Olive picked her glass up from the table and headed to the kitchen. She turned after a couple steps. "You want a beer?"

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Yeah. Thanks."

Peter reached for the controller again, then tilted his head at the paper under it. He turned it with his fingertips and pulled it closed, scanning over the document quickly. He had picked it up and was leafing through it when Olive came back.

"Is this what you're working on?"

Irritation prickled off of her. "Peter, don't snoop through our stuff."

"I'm not snooping! It was right here on the table."

"Peter…"

"Have you found this guy?"

Nick answered from the hallway, ignoring Olive's glare. "Not yet. We're running some searches of doctors' offices, but the symptoms are not terribly helpful."

"You should be checking hospitals, not doctors. There's no way this guy is walking around."

Olive frowned. "What?"

"This is radiation poisoning."

Olive looked at Nick, then took the paper from Peter.

"Dude." Nick frowned and looked over her shoulder before looking up at Peter again. "How the fuck do you get radiation poisoning from this?"

Peter's forehead creased. "Well, the symptoms fit."

"They fit a lot of other stuff, too," Olive said.

"Fine." Peter crossed his arms over his chest.

Nick looked at Olive. "Why would he have radiation poisoning?"

Olive tapped a finger against the paper. "He wouldn't go to a regular hospital, he'd draw too much attention to himself."

Peter frowned. "You think I'm right?"

She flicked her eyes towards Peter. "He'd go to a private clinic or something. Like something we would use."

Nick was nodding now, running his thumb over his lower lip. "That's where we should start."

Peter leaned back on the couch and laced his fingers together behind his head. "You guys owe me scotch."

Olive jogged down the stairs, pulling a jacket on as she went, juggling her backpack and helmet. The day was cool and overcast, but it didn't really look like rain. Nick was waiting in the parking lot of the apartment complex, bike idling under him. She settled her backpack and pulled on her helmet. Nick was pulling away almost before she was on the bike, and she molded herself along his back, grinning. The traffic was light and they made good time across town.

Sam Weiss' antique store was tucked into a row of businesses, front window crowded with dusty junk. Nick thought the items were different each time they visited, but he wasn't sure. He could always ask Olive, but he didn't really think it was important.

The inside of the shop was crowded and smelled of dust and old books. They weaved their way through shelves to the glass display case that served as a counter in the back. It was filled with watches and an ornate cash register perched on top of it. The man behind the counter was sipping coffee from a tiny porcelain cup. He grinned as they approached.

"Dunham. Lane. To what do I owe this pleasure? You're not due to pick up your order for several weeks."

Nick smiled and leaned over the case to look at a particularly ornate pocket watch with a tall ship engraved on the case. "Just in the neighborhood. Olive and I have our eye out for a particular item that we thought you might be able to track down for us."

Olive's gaze went unfocused for a moment as she swept the store for electronics.

Sam raised a shaggy eyebrow at her. "I trust the shop is clean, Ms. Dunham."

She blinked and focused on him again before nodding.

"Wonderful. I'd hate to think I missed something. Now, what can I do for you?"

Olive slid the folded piece of paper across the counter, careful to pull her hand away before Weiss's fingers got close to hers. She wasn't really sure what he was; definitely not a soldier. The only time she'd let him touch her - a handshake the first time they met - she'd had nightmares for weeks.

"We're looking for this man in relation to the sale of some rather unusual weapons." She flicked her eyes towards Nick, then back to Weiss. "We think he has radiation poisoning."

Weiss' eyebrows inched up. "Exotic."

"We looked at area hospitals, but haven't come up with anything. We thought that your connections to the slightly less overt medical facilities might turn up something."

"I'll see what I can do."

Peter pulled the door to his room closed and headed towards the landing. After they let him out of the hospital facility they'd stuck him into the compound's temporary housing, a sprawling farm house that had been chopped up into guest rooms and apartments. He pretended that he didn't notice the guards. And the security cameras. And that Nick was there an awful lot for someone who lived an hour away and supposedly had other things to be doing.

Peter was a little surprised that they hadn't put a tracking device on him. Hell, maybe they had.

He ignored the thought and pulled on a jacket before heading outside.

Nick was waiting downstairs, lounging on one of the picnic tables that gave the housing an appearance of being cozy. He was dressed in baggy, faded jeans, bouncing a basketball on the hard-packed dirt.

"Don't you have any clothing that fits you?"

Nick grinned up at him. "Like you're in any position to give fashion advice." He held the ball up in one hand and raised his eyebrows.

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes. "I've got class. Or whatever they fuck they call it."

"Bor-ing," Nick sing-songed at him. His eyes were bright in the autumn sunshine. He looked more than any of them, Peter thought, exactly like he had when they were kids. "Ditch class."

"I thought you were supposed to be helping me, not getting me in trouble."

"Helping?" Nick nearly doubled over, laughing. "Sorry, dude, you've got me confused with someone else."

Peter sank onto the bench next to Nick and tilted his head back to look at the sky. Thin white clouds scuttled over the blue vault.

Nick tossed the basketball back and forth between his hands. "So, uh. How's the training going?"

"It's… weird. I remember a lot of it from… you know, before. But until I hear it I don't really remember it. Like it was locked away or something." He scuffed at the ground with the toe of his shoe. "Did she do that to me?"

Nick's sidelong glance was appraising. "No, not directly. That's just part of what they did to us when we were kids. It's how they make sleepers. All the training gets buried until something triggers it. They're doing yours slowly, letting you think you're learning things instead of having that part of you mind wake up all at once."

"Jesus." Peter leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.

Nick watched him for a while before nudging Peter with his elbow. "Come on. Fuck this. You need to do something fun today."

Peter snorted. "Fun."

"Yeah. Let's go blow some stuff up."

Peter looked sidelong at Nick and raised his eyebrows.

"We've got an explosives range we can use." Nick was grinning at him now.

"You have an _explosives range_? How the fuck do you get an explosives range?"

"Magic, dude," Nick said. "Come on. We'll go grab Olive and spend the day destroying things."

Peter's smile was a little lopsided. "We used to do that. We'd sneak away from class and set off fireworks in the woods."

Nick nodded. "Yep. And it's still amazingly fun." He pushed himself to his feet. "Plus we've got better fireworks now." He held his hand out and pulled Peter to his feet.

They were, as far as Peter could tell, in the middle of nowhere. He and Nick had picked Olive up from the apartment, and after a stop at a storage facility followed by a deli, had headed south out of town. They hadn't passed any buildings for what seemed like an hour, winding on smaller and smaller roads though thick woods. They pulled up in front of a gate slung across an overgrown dirt track and Nick hopped out to unlock it.

Peter leaned forward into the front seat. "Where the hell are we?"

Olive glanced at him before slowly rolling the car forward though the gate. "Nina owns it. It's adjacent to a state park, and it's officially sort of a wildlife sanctuary. They do survival training here sometimes. It's pretty isolated."

"You're going to kill me and hide my body in the woods, aren't you?"

A smile pulled at her lips for a moment before she smothered it and turned towards him, eyes serious. "We'll give you a sporting chance to get away from us."

Nick hopped back into the passenger seat and slammed the door closed. "Locked up. Let's go."

Peter and Olive held each other's eyes a moment longer before bursting into laughter.

Nick smiled, looking between them. "What?"

Olive pulled away from the gate, still laughing. "Nothing."

The range was an abandoned quarry, ringed with thick woods. An area at the north end was still mostly stripped bare of vegetation, and a small concrete bunker crouched against the line of trees. A set of targets was nearby, and a little further was the quarry itself, now filled with turquoise water.

The next few hours were spent lobbing grenades at rocks, and getting a refresher course on gun handling. It came back easily and Peter was outshooting Olive before long. It felt good to be away from the compound and it's constant surveillance, and Peter felt himself relaxing. They played until they'd run out of things to blow up and their stomachs were growling, then spread a picnic lunch out on the ground.

Nick leaned against the curved wall of the bunker and took another drink of his soda. The air smelled like dry leaves and explosives, and faintly of wool from the blanket they'd spread out on the ground. Peter was sprawled on his stomach with his head propped in his hands, watching Olive pick apart a brownie.

"What are you doing?"

"Eating."

"No you're not."

She frowned and threw a walnut at Peter's head.

"Nice." Peter rolled onto his side to look at Nick. "This was some kind of stealthy training, wasn't it? See how I handled weapons, right?"

Nick shrugged.

"So how'd I do?"

"Flying colors, man. You get your merit badge in blowing shit up."

"Look, I don't mean to sound like a dick or anything, because this… was actually really fun, but I'm bored out of my mind. How long do I have to jump through hoops for them?"

Olive cocked her head to the side. "They make you jump through hoops until you stop jumping. Tell 'em to fuck off, and they'll start giving you more slack."

Peter blinked. "Really?"

"'The training of a soldier is but a step in the process. Truly, for one to become a soldier, one must reveal in himself the autonomy of a mind capable of rising to the heights of leadership necessary for us to prevail against our enemies. A soldier must lead others, and also himself.'"

"Bullshit." Peter wondered if she could quote the entire book.

She grinned and laughed. "Yeah, but if you want to start working on your own, you have to play their game."

"So it's just a game? You don't believe any of that stuff they taught us when we were little?"

She dropped her eyes and shrugged a little. Peter eased open his connection to her and felt the reluctance of her belief, her unwillingness to question the doctrine. Her thoughts skittered away but she didn't push him out of her mind.

"So," Peter said. "I mean… what happens next? How exactly does this work?"

Olive kept her eyes fixed on the ground and Nick answered. "They'll give you a cover, set you up with an expense account, which, by the way, they will keep really close tabs on at first."

"That sounds like the voice of experience."

Nick grinned. "How was I supposed to know a thirty thousand dollar motorcycle wouldn't be considered a legitimate expense? Anyway, find an apartment, settle in to whatever it is your cover is supposed to be doing, start working jobs with us."

"Okay. I need this to happen now."

Olive nodded. "Living there sucks."

Peter smoothed his hands over the blanket. "I don't think I'm doing very well."

Nick cocked his head. "Why do you think that?"

"They want me to be better at the tests." Peter shrugged. "They're disappointed. I don't think they want me working with you."

Nick flicked his eyes to Olive's before returning to Peter's. "It's not about what they want. We need you. We always have."

Peter snorted. "It looks like you've been doing fine on your own."

Olive's voice was soft. "We haven't, really."

The despair that filtered over their connection made his eyes burn. Peter thought he'd cried more in the last month than he had his entire life. He could feel the echo of that despair from Nick, and the warm steady hope he had that things would get better. Peter scrambled after that hope, dragging Olive along with him, and they lay on a blanket in the warm sun until they almost believed it.


	3. November

Olive leaned over the table and pointed at an apartment listing. "How about that one?"

Peter looked up from the paper and glared at her. Three weeks after he'd abandoned any pretense of playing along with the organization's training program, he'd been handed a thick manila envelope containing his new identity. Peter King was now sleeping on a couch at his friends' apartment in Mattapan while trying to find his own place to live.

The proximity was grating on all of their nerves.

Peter batted Olive's finger away. "How can you even read that? It's upside down."

She shrugged. "It's not a bad location."

"No garage." Peter pushed the paper away from him. "I'm never gonna find anyplace I like."

Nick looked up from his GameBoy. "You're too fuckin' picky."

Olive tapped a finger against the table. "You should let my property management group find someplace for you."

Peter wrinkled his nose. "Your what?"

"Oh, I've got a bunch of real estate, and they take care of it all for me, manage the leases, find new stuff to buy. That sort of thing."

Peter shook his head and pulled a serious face at her. "Olivia, are you a slumlord?"

She laughed. "No! I own office buildings mostly, a few rental houses. I've got one apartment complex, but it's a pretty nice one."

"So… what? This is part of your cover or something?"

"No. This is mine. They know about it, but they don't have anything to do with it. I didn't plan on it or anything, it just kind of happened. After I bought the beach house…"

"What?"

She swallowed hard and dropped her eyes to the table. "Oh."

"Olivia? You bought the beach house? Walter's beach house?"

She nodded and stared intently at her fingers as she picked at her cuticles.

Peter reached across the table and caught her hands, stilled them under his before she drew blood. "Why did you buy the beach house?"

She darted her eyes to Nick for a moment before looking down again. "I didn't want anyone else to have it."

"So you guys go to the beach for the weekend? That's fucking fantastic."

"No. Peter. We haven't. We haven't been there since before…" She pulled her hands out from under his and curled her fingers in, digging her nails into the top of her thumbs. The pain flickered across their connection and Peter grabbed her hands again.

"Stop that." He frowned at her. "So it's just sitting empty?"

"Someone from the management group goes in and cleans and takes care of the yard and stuff once a month. None of the appliances are plugged in or anything, but they keep the furnace on so the pipes don't freeze. I had new windows and storm shutters installed last year."

"But you never go there?"

She shrugged, and Peter could feel despair rolling off of her like waves.

"It didn't seem right to go there without you," Nick said.

Peter looked over at him. "What about the house in Cambridge?"

Nick shook his head. "We thought about it, but there really wasn't anything left after the fire."

Peter swallowed against the unexpected tightness in his throat.

"We can go sometime. If you want." Olive pulled her hands away again. "To the beach house, I mean."

"No." He pushed away from the table. "Call your… whatever. Have them find me someplace to live."

Olive's property manager was a thirty-something woman named Elena. She worked out of a modest office in Dorchester. The number of large men in ill-fitting dark suits made Peter think that real estate was perhaps not her only business. She raked her eyes over Peter and wrinkled her nose. The look she gave Olive from under her bright red bangs was dubious at best. "Friend of yours?"

"Yeah, something like that."

She was friendly, though, listened to what Peter wanted, what Olive said Peter wanted, and offered a variety of options.

Too many options, really. Peter was tired of being driven around town, listening to Olive and Elena bicker incessantly. He wished Nick were there, because he could at least distract her. Nick had left the apartment early that morning after his pager had gone off that morning, muttering a terse, "Work," on his way out of the door.

They were in an older neighborhood that was a mix of residential and business. He could hear the steady roar of the expressway a block away, and just faintly smell the ocean beyond it. There were three Thai restaurants within walking distance. The apartment was on the third floor of a brick building, over an empty retail space that had once been a dress shop.

It was small and dusty. Peter thought it had been empty for a while. There was a pile of phone books in one corner.

Olive wrinkled her nose and looked around the little apartment. "This place is a dump." She looked over her shoulder at her real estate agent. "What the hell, Elena?"

"It needs a bit of cleaning, but the garage downstairs comes with it. Off-street parking for one car in addition to the one-car garage. That's not exactly easy to find unless you want a free standing house, which he didn't."

The window looked over the intersection at the front of the building. The glass was old and wavy, distorting the view of the building across the street.

"Yeah, but this place is awful. He doesn't want to live here."

Peter turned away from the window to look at the two women. "Uh. I'm right here. You don't have to talk about me like I'm not."

They both blinked at him in surprise. Elena recovered first. "Ah… I apologize, Mr. Bishop. I'm used to dealing with Ms. Dunham alone. If this isn't to your liking, we can certainly keep looking."

Peter scuffed the toe of his shoe in he dust on the floor. "It's kind of small."

"My uncle owns this building and the ah… business next door. In addition to the downstairs garage I can see if I can negotiate use of the mechanic facility next door provided you can be ah… discreet."

Peter blinked. "Your uncle owns a chop shop?"

She grinned. "He prefers automotive redistribution center."

"They have a lift I can use?"

"Sure."

Peter looked around again. "I'll take it."

Nick rapped his knuckles on the battered door to Peter's apartment. The hallway was dingy and smelled faintly of motor oil. Nick nudged a cardboard box open with his toe, and frowned at the collection of small engine parts.

Peter looked sleep-rumpled and a little dazed when he opened the door. "What?" He scratched at his shaggy hair and yawned.

"Nothing," Nick said, smiling. "Stopping by."

"It's early."

"It isn't, really."

Peter stepped back from the door and motioned Nick inside.

The room was considerably cleaner than what Olive had described, with freshly painted walls and well-cleaned floors. A flat-packed futon was still in its box under the window, along with a few bookshelves. A TV sat on the floor against one wall.

Nick held out the Toys R Us bag. "Here. Didn't wrap it or anything but happy house warming. I see Olive's been here."

"Yeah, she broke in and painted. And cleaned. She didn't have to do that."

Nick grinned. "The painting and cleaning or the breaking in?"

"Both, really." Peter ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but where the fuck does she get off breaking into my apartment?"

"Yeah, sorry. She thought you'd say no. Are those curtains?"

"Yeah. Nick, is she okay? I mean, I remember her being batshit when we were kids…"

The amusement vanished from Nick face and was replaced by a carefully neutral mask. His eyes were hard, though, and Peter made a mental note of the line he'd just stumbled across.

"This hasn't been easy for her."

Peter nodded and ducked his head, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

"Hey." Nick crossed the tiny room. He hesitated a moment before laying his hand on Peter's shoulder. "This has been hard on all of us. I know she seems off, but she isn't. She just doesn't deal well with change."

Peter nodded again and stared at Nick's sneakers. Nick's hand slid from Peter's shoulder to his wrist, curling his fingers below the sleeve of Peter's shirt. Comfort bled over their connection, seeping though to Peter though Nick's grip on his arm. It buzzed pleasantly over his nerves, and he was smiling. Peter blinked a little groggily.

"How do you do that?"

Nick squeezed his arm before letting go. "Lots of practice. Come on, open your present."

Peter opened the bag, peering in for a moment before his eyes widened.

"Oh, awesome. Thanks!" He pulled the Nintento64 bag out and started at it.

"I got GoldenEye and Madden for it. I wasn't sure if you'd like Madden. Or any of it. I mean, you can take it back if you want something else."

"No!" Peter looked up quickly. "No, Nick, this is great. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Nick smiled. "Um. You want some help setting it up?"

The flutter of emotion was light against Peter's mind. "Do I detect a touch of ulterior motive here?"

"No, no." Nick rocked back on his heels and tried for an innocent look. He didn't quite pull it off. "Well. Yeah. Olive says I can't buy any more games for myself, that I have too many already."

"You're so whipped." Peter dropped to the floor in front of the TV and started pulling the console out of the box.

Nick sat next to him, opening the games. "Am not."

"Whatever. You can stay if you promise to help me put the futon together."

Nick grinned. "Deal."

Peter shoved his laptop onto the couch next to him, and slumped against the back of the couch. He really needed to get a desk or something. Propping his feet up on the coffee table and balancing the laptop on his thighs was alright for a little while, but it wasn't good for any long term work.

The tiny apartment was starting to seem like not such a good idea now, but he'd be dammed if he'd admit that Olive had been right. He wondered if he could get her to find him an actual office without somehow giving her reason to sneer at him with that I-told-you-so expression on her face.

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

He could just go to their apartment to work. Olive had offered tentatively that he was welcome to use the office they had set up in their spare bedroom. Nick hadn't been quite quick enough to mask the look of surprise on his face when she had.

Peter was glad to have something to do, even if it was just charming his way past receptionists to pilfer file cabinets and writing bullshit reports about it. He was mostly working on his own, although Nick came with him occasionally. When he did, they usually knocked the job off quickly and spent the rest of the day playing video games. Sometimes Olive came with Nick, and everything Peter tried to do was wrong and they spent the whole job fighting with each other. On those days he just finished whatever he was supposed to be doing and reported to their handler as quickly as possible.

That still sounded weird to his ears: handler. Like he was some sort of super-spy instead of a petty thief working for a domestic terrorist organization. An organization fueled by the sort of insanity that made it hard for Peter to buy into. Some of the stories that he was wringing out of Nick made Peter wonder if he and Olive weren't super-spies, and their belief in the organization was, if not absolute, then at least strong enough to pass as such.

Being around them was getting easier. The constant, low buzz of Olive's presence in his mind was getting easier to filter out, to reduce it to background noise. He thought he could probably block her out completely, but the thought of that filled him with terror. He didn't really want too examine that too closely. It was getting easier to slip around her and get at Nick and the warm comfort that he provided, and that wasn't something Peter allowed himself to think about, either.

It was still dark, and traffic on the street outside was just beginning to pick up. The apartment was full of soft, distant sounds of neighbors waking up, getting ready for work. The sounds were familiar, and Olive let her mind catalogue them absently.

Olive stretched and reached her arm across the bed, but Nick was already up, the space on his side of the bed cold. She burrowed back under the blankets and clutched Nick's pillow to her chest. She dozed back off immediately. She wasn't sure how long she slept, but the next time she opened her eyes, light was filtering past the curtains and Nick was standing in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. Olive pushed herself into a setting position and rubbed her eyes.

Nick offered the coffee to her and sat on the edge of the bed. "Sam's got something for us."

"Mmm."

"You sleep okay, sleepy thing?" Nick slipped his hand under the blanket and curled it around her ankle.

Olive sipped the coffee and looked over the rim of the mug. "Mmmhmm."

Nick grinned. "Not talking today?"

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Nick tilted his head slightly. "I was thinking we could go get Peter, bringing him with us on this."

Olive wrinkled her nose. "He's a pain in the ass to work with."

"And you're not?"

Olive punched Nick in the shoulder.

"Seriously, Olive, he's good in the field," Nick said. "He reads people really well."

She sighed. "Yeah. I know."

Nick made an incredulous face at her.

"I do!" She drained the last of the coffee. "Just… not this, okay? We'll take him with us on the next job."

"Alight." Nick squeezed her ankle before standing up. "Come on, go get ready."

She stood and brushed the curtains aside from the window, stretching up on her toes. "Looks kinda cold. I'll drive."

"Parking'll be a bitch."

"Better than freezing to death on the back of your bike." She grinned at him over her shoulder.

Nick caught her around her waist and pulled her into a hug. "Hey."

She turned in his arms and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Hi."

"You're feeling better."

"Yeah." She nodded and smiled. "It's better now that he's not there."

"Good." Nick kissed the tip of her nose. "I missed you."

Olive tightened her arms around Nick's chest.

An older man was browsing the case of watches when Nick and Olive got to the antique shop. They wandered the store, pointing out oddities until he left. A delicate mechanical dragonfly caught Olive's attention, and Nick smiled at her wonder.

Sam held up a small, folded piece of paper. "As it turns, I didn't have to look far from home. Your Mr. Devon is convalescing in a clinic that is rather central to my… operation."

Olive's forehead creased in confusion. "He's at a ZFT clinic?"

"Not. Exactly."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Ah."

"I don't really want to have to move this particular establishment, so I would appreciate your discretion in this matter. That is to say, please don't blow the place up."

"Of course." Nick took the paper and tucked it into his pocket. "In and out, no one will even know we're there."

Nick paused outside the door to Devon's room, one hand on Olive's arm to still her. The hallway was dark, and the building gave the appearance of being deserted. The doors to all the rooms were closed save one, and the makeshift nurses' station at the end of the hall was empty. That Sam had called ahead made Nick uneasy, but there wasn't much they could do about it now. They stepped into the room.

The man in the bed watched them with barely-open bloodshot eyes. Bandages covered most of his skin, sickly yellow pus oozing out form the edges. His voice was raspy. "Figures. Knew coming here was a bad idea. Jones send you to finish me off?"

They hid their shock well. Nick was the first to recover. "We don't work for Jones. There a reason he'd be sending someone after you?"

Devon barked out a laugh that dissolved into a hacking cough. "No idea, seeing that I'm as good as dead. Bastard said it was safe, that nothing was gonna happen to me. He said that it was gonna be easy money. Knew it was too good to be true."

Olive stepped closer to the bed. "Mr. Jones has a habit of misleading people."

"You ain't kidding."

"Mr. Devon, my partner and I would like to have words with Mr. Jones about this and other of his enterprises," Nick said. "He's a difficult man to contact."

Devon pushed himself up, half-sitting against the pillows. "Hand me that water, would ya, doll?"

Olive glared but handed him the glass.

"Look, I'd give you that fucker's home address if I had it, but all I've got is where we would meet up, where they stored things. Warehouse outside of Worcester, right off the 20."

"What were you doing?"

"Reaching into a box. No shit. We'd take the thing to a building, and it'd take for fucking ever for them to set the thing up. It'd make this horrible sound, then I'd reach in and grab whatever's in there. Mostly weird shit I don't know what it was, but one time, it was a gun. Like from a cartoon or something. I thought it was a toy, but those fuckers that worked with Jones got real excited. After that, it was almost always the guns. They set me up with a guy who was buying them."

Devon started coughing again and slumped back into the bed. "Guess that was what they were after, some fucking cartoon guns. I thought I just had a cold at first, but then I started getting these sores on my hand. Jones said it would go away, but they kept spreading. Ain't no one's said anything, but I know I'm dying."

Nick stepped closer to the bed. "What's the address of the building?"

"You find Jones, you gonna kill him?"

Olive met Devon's eyes. "Yes. Slowly."

Olive strode down the hall, and Nick could feel her mentally inventorying the guns and ammo in the trunk, felt her mind racing ahead.

"Olive. Olive, just wait."

"We need to stop him. We need…"

"Olive!" He caught her arm and pulled her to a stop. "If we rush in, we're gonna get killed. We've got to know what their security is like at least."

"Fine. We'll stake it out a few nights…"

"No, Olive, we'll give the address to Clive and let him handle the surveillance."

"We can do our own surveillance!"

"Olive, we have the resources of the entire organization. We can let them do the damn surveillance."

She clenched her jaw and glared at the ground for a moment. "Fine."

"We don't have to do everything on our own."

She sighed and looked up at the lead-gray sky. "I know."

Olive was standing by the ocean. She was small again, young. The stars in the night sky were dim, hidden behind scuttling clouds, and the water that lapped over her bare feet was as cold as ice. When she tried to back away from the water, she sank into the sand. Its freezing weight crept over her feet to clutch at her ankles. She lost her balance and fell to the ground and the water washed over her. Her nose and mouth filled with sand and salt water, leaving her coughing. She turned and clawed at the beach, but the sand was sharp and tore her hands. In the far distance, warm lights promised safety she'd never reach.

Olive jolted awake. Her heart was pounding, the sound of her pulse rushing in her ears. She could feel the remnants of Peter's dream crawling in her mind, feel the grip of the dream on his mind and shuddered with his terror. She eased along their connection and shook him awake before retreating back to her own mind.

Beside her, Nick grumbled in his sleep, and she leaned over to kiss his shoulder. She molded herself along his back, and waited until he stilled, until his sleeping mind was quiet again. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and she could feel the threads that bound their minds together. She nuzzled the back of his neck. The temptation to stay in bed was strong, but there was no way she'd get back to sleep at this point, and staying there would only wake Nick up.

She rolled out of bed and pulled on warm pajamas, the fuzzy black ones that Nick had bought for her. The apartment was chilly, and they needed to prod maintenance again about the furnace. She took her laptop to the living room, and spread reports on the floor around her. She turned on the TV and muted it, silent infomercials flickering at the edge of her vision. She pulled the red and black Northeastern blanket off the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She'd nearly lost herself in the numbers when she felt a prickling between her shoulder blades and turned her head towards the door. She could feel Peter there, hesitating in the hallway. He felt lost and hopeless.

When she got to the door he was already leaving, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, shoulders slumped.

She called softly to him and he turned back at the end of the hallway. "Peter."

"Ah. Shit, Olive. Sorry it's so early. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's okay. You didn't. Well, I mean, you did, but it's okay."

He wandered back down the hall and stopped in front of the door. "Uh. Can I come in?"

"Oh! Yeah. Sorry."

They stood just inside the door and watched each other for a moment before Olive moved to the kitchen. She felt Nick stirring in the bedroom, and opened the refrigerator to peer inside.

"You want breakfast? Nick can cook something for us."

"Nah. Not hungry." Peter sat at the table and toyed with the saltshaker.

Olive sat across from him and watched his hands. "You have that dream a lot."

He didn't look surprised. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "I've been having it since I left. That and the one with the fire."

Olive nodded and Peter tilted his head.

"You've seen that one, too?"

"Yeah."

He watched her, felt along the outskirts of her thoughts. "Do you see all my dreams?"

The shake of her head was abrupt. "Not all of them. Just the really strong ones."

"What other ones have you seen?" She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Olivia."

She stared at the table and counted the little lines in the fake woodgrain. "You dream about me sometimes."

Peter felt himself blushing at the confirmation of what he suspected.

"I don't see them on purpose," she whispered.

He nodded. "I know. I'm sorry."

Nick paused in the doorway before entering the kitchen. He brushed his hand across Olive's back before he busied himself making coffee. By the time he sat down, handing mugs of coffee to each of them, Peter thought he probably wasn't going to die of embarrassment. He sipped his coffee then went ahead with what he'd come there for in the first place.

"I wanna go to the beach house."

Nick squinted through the rain that was lashing against the windshield. "Shit."

Peter sighed from the backseat. "Man, I'm sorry. I didn't think to check the weather before we left."

Olive glanced over the seat at him and shrugged a little. "It's okay. We didn't check either. We're almost there."

They had taken a few wrong turns, the driving rain and the length of time since their last visit making their navigation unusually faulty. They pulled into the wide sandy driveway and sat in the car, peering through the rain.

Peter leaned forward, sticking his head between the two front seats. "There are lights on."

"Yeah, it's a timer system that Elena designed. It randomizes the lights so it looks more like someone's actually living there."

A gust of wind shook the car. It was cooling off rapidly and Peter shivered.

Nick turned his head slightly, watching Peter from the corner of his eye. "We going in?"

Peter wanted to say no, that this had been a bad idea, but he felt trapped by the storm. He nodded.

They ducked through the rain and clustered tightly around Olive as she unlocked the door.

Peter looked around, feeling lost despite the familiarity. It felt like far more than three years since the last time he'd been here. It felt like a lifetime. Behind him, Olive spoke softly.

"Everything's more or less how it was."

Nick stepped past her, rubbing his hand across the small of her back. "I'll go turn the furnace up. It's freezing in here."

Peter watched him disappear down the hall. Olive drifted to the window seat that faced the beach. She was walled off from him, just a dim, miserable shape at the edge of his awareness. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass and ignored him. Peter decided he could play along if that was what she wanted, and left the room without a word.

The cadence of the rain changed, rattling sharply against the windows. Nick glanced up from the kitchen table, then rose to cross to the windows. Olive and Peter had been staying at opposite ends of the house, and Nick had parked himself in the kitchen, sifting through old recipe cards. They were all handwritten, familiar. Someday he'd ask Peter if he could have them.

Nick squinted out into the storm and warmth spread along his back as Olive stepped close to him and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Where's Peter?"

Nick nodded towards the back of the house. "Walter's room."

Nick slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side. She sighed, an unhappy little sound.

"It looks pretty shitty out there." Olive drew a spiral in the condensation on the window.

He nodded, watching her muted reflection in the steam-frosted glass. "Yeah, it's starting to freeze." He turned at a sound behind him to find Peter standing in the doorway.

Peter's eyes were red-rimmed and his voice was rough. "I dug out some blankets and stuff. I mean, because it's awful out there. We shouldn't try to drive back tonight."

Nick nodded. "Thanks."

"I found a box of pictures. Of us."

Nick followed Peter towards the back of the house, pulling a reluctant Olive along behind him. Peter had taken the dust cover off the bed and replaced it with photos. Nick picked one up; Peter and Olive were jumping in the surf, hands linked together and grinning. Olive's hair was still cropped short and Peter's was long and curly.

"Seals."

"Huh?"

"You and Olive were like seals. You were always in the water."

Olive held up a picture of Nick sticking his tongue out at the camera. "You were always a brat."

She sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't even remember Walter taking these. How are there so many pictures of us?"

"Guess we weren't paying attention," Nick said.

Peter crawled up on the bed and sat cross-legged, leaning against the headboard. "There aren't any pictures of Walter or mom or anyone else. I thought there might be some, but they're all of us."

Nick lay across in the end of the bed, resting on his side. "We tried to find stuff at the house, but everything was too badly burned."

Peter touched a finger to the edge of a photo. They were older; he thought it was only a couple summers before everything fell apart. The three of them were sitting on the steps of the back porch, looking out at the ocean. They looked unguarded. Happy. Peter could almost remember it.

Lightning strobed in the sky, followed by a crack of thunder that rattled the windows. The lights flickered erratically before going out.

"I didn't do that," Olive muttered sleepily.

Peter scooped the pictures back into the box and grabbed the blankets off the chair next to the bed. "You guys wanna sleep in here?"

Nick looked around at Walter's things still scattered over the surfaces of the furniture. "Not really."

Olive took a blanket from Peter and wrapped it around her shoulders.

They were all sleepy and tangled in each other's minds, and it clicked then, like when she and Nick were working and they didn't need words. They followed Peter down the hall to the room Nick and Peter had shared as kids. Nick pulled the mattress off the upper bunk, tossing the plastic dust cover aside. Peter already had his mattress off the lower bunk bed, and they pushed them together on the floor in the center of the room.

She and Nick settled on one mattress, spooned together under the blankets. Peter lay on his side facing them. Olive slipped her hand out from under the blanket and tucked her fingers into Peter's. They were asleep long before the storm had passed.

Olive bounced on her toes and watched the entrance of the warehouse. Peter watched her from the relative shelter of the overpass pylon. The wind had kicked up, blowing cold and fierce, biting through his clothing. They were wearing black, all three of them, like some sort of urban ninjas, which Peter thought looked ridiculously suspicious.

Peter also thought Olive looked ridiculously good in her ninja gear, but he made a point of keeping that to himself.

He tugged his cap lower over his ears and regarded the rundown building that was their target. The hired muscle loitering in front had traded shifts and it was just a matter of waiting now. Waiting for Olive to decide it was time to move, because apparently she called the shots in the field, and that made Peter bristle.

Olivia glanced over her shoulder at him and Nick. "Okay, when the guards settle in, we go in the front."

Peter made an annoyed sound. "The front? Who goes in the front of a building they're breaking into?"

"We do. We'll…"

"That's stupid. The front's in plain view of that building across the street. There's an entrance around the east side. We should go in there."

She turned to glare at Peter. "We're going in the front."

Peter turned to Nick. "You're okay with this?"

Nick's gaze drifted to the other building and went unfocused for a moment before he shrugged. "There's not really anyone in that building who's going to be paying attention to us."

Peter glanced at the building. "That's not the point. It's the principle of the thing. You don't just walk up to the front door."

"The principle? Peter, we don't have principles, we're here to find out where the guns are coming from and kill anyone who tries to stop us."

"Everyone has principles."

She made an exasperated sound and turned back to the warehouse.

Peter looked at Nick who was trying to hide the fact that he was smiling by rubbing his nose. Peter felt the shift in Olive's and Nick dropped his hand, face serious. Peter followed his attention to Olive. Her head was tilted, watching the guards closely. He felt Nick reach past them to circle his thoughts around the guards' minds.

And they were moving, Nick and Olive taking the lead. The streetlight flickered before dying, and they spread like shadows across the street. The two guards had retreated into the little circle of light that surrounded the door, but it died, too, as Olive closed on them. Peter could feel the suggestion of terror that Nick was projecting, and the guards in their blind panic never called for reinforcements before the pair was on them. Peter scrambled to get his connection closed before the guards' fear cascaded over to him, a feedback look from Nick that pulsed through Olive to him.

They were ruthless, and Peter knew this, but seeing it up close was disturbing and thrilling both. They waited until they were close to their targets before even lifting their guns. The guards had enough sense left to fumble for their weapons, but Nick and Olive stepped into the shelter of the doorway too quickly. The muffled pop of their silencers was almost simultaneous.

The ghost of panic left Peter jittery. He wondered how Olive kept that out, kept it from spreading to her own mind from Nick's. His hand was shaking slightly as he got to work on the locks, and the familiarity of the movement soothed him. He felt Nick and Olive step close behind him, a rear guard, and the last of the fear bled away.

The lock opened with a satisfying click, and they were inside.

Olive took point down the dimly lit hallway. She flexed her hand around the grip of her gun, and darted her eyes towards each doorway in turn. She felt Nick's presence at the back of her mind as he swept forward watching for resistance. Between them, Peter was a warm blur, holding his thoughts away from her. That was just fine. She was getting used to him, but he was still a distraction.

"Three in the room on the left." Nick's voice was barely audible, and Peter thought he felt the words in his mind more than actually hearing them.

Olive nodded in acknowledgement, and motioned Peter back. Nick fell into step behind her. They were in the room and firing before any of the three men looked up. The silencers reduced their shots to dull pops, and the third man barely had time to push himself away from the table before Olive rounded on him. Her shot caught him in the center of his forehead.

"Jesus."

She glanced back at Peter.

"Don't you like… question people?"

Nick looked over his shoulder. "Jones' men are exceptionally well trained. They won't tell us anything and there's a chance that they'll have some sort of ability that makes neutralizing them quickly a necessity."

Peter swallowed hard and stared at the pool of blood spreading from the back of the man's head. The calm disinterest radiating off of Nick and Olive both made him shiver.

Olive was staring across the room. "That's it."

An open-sided box sat on a tripod across the room. The framework gleamed in the dim light, like brass, and cables snaked off of it, winding across the floor to a table holding a laptop, then down again to disappear into a maze of generators towards the back of the room.

"That must be the box Devon was talking about," Nick said.

Olive glanced back towards the door and her eyes went unfocused for a moment. "The place is clear. We should see what else is here."

Nick tilted his head at the device. "Peter, do you think we can move that thing?"

Peter looked up from the cable he was following. "Maybe. This thing is hooked up to a massive power supply. Take me a bit to figure out how to disconnect it. I'll see what I can do."

"If you can't, we can call in a team to secure the site."

Peter nodded.

Olive was out the door and Nick trailed, turning back to Peter before he entered the hallway. "You okay here?"

Peter glanced at the bodies then at Olive's retreating form. "There's no one else here, right?"

"Nah, it's clear."

"Go. I'm good."

The mass of cables was a tangled mess, leading to three huge generators on the far side of the room. The ones that went to the laptop passed though a relay before connecting to the machine. Peter was tempted to turn the whole thing one, just to see, but Olive's description of the dying man made him abandon that. They'd have to get it somewhere isolated to figure out how it worked.

There was a soft sound behind him, barely audible, and without the accompanying pressure of someone's thoughts near his, Peter almost ignored it. He was just starting to turn when he caught the blur of movement, and ducked to the side.

His attacker was thin and pale, quick as Olive was, and Peter couldn't catch even the faintest hint of his thoughts. He swung a tire iron at Peter's head, barely missing, and Peter went for his gun.

The next swing caught his wrist and the gun tumbled away. Peter howled, felt pain and panic echoing back from Olive. He dove after the gun, but the bastard with the tire iron was fast, and brought it down on Peter's thigh. The crunching sound it made was sickening, and the pain was blinding.

Peter thrashed on the floor, just trying to get away and bumped into the tripod that the frame was on. He reached up, grasped the edge of it and tipped it forward onto his attacker. The frame hit the man's chest before striking the ground, splitting open and shattering the metal like it was glass. Sparks showered the room.

The man hissed, "You idiot."

The stench of burning electronics filled the room, and over the snap of electricity Peter could hear footsteps running towards them.

His attacker snarled then fled towards the back of the room. Olive was running after him, firing off shots that just missed their target. She made an inarticulate sound of rage, then dropped to her knees beside Peter.

"Peter?"

The panic in her voice cut through his pain enough to make him grate out, "I'm fine."

"Bullshit. Can you move? We've gotta get out of here." She pulled him so he was sitting up, and he curled forward, clutching his leg.

"Who the fuck was that?"

"One of Jones' men. We walked into a damn trap." Peter could feel the heat of her anger and the deep, sickening guilt that laced it. She got her arm under his and eased him up. "Come on."

Smoke was filling the room, and Peter winced when he coughed. He heard footsteps running towards them, Nick's voice yelling from the hallway.

"Out. Now."

Nick was on the other side of him and they hauled Peter to his feet. He bit back a scream.

Olive looked across Peter to Nick. "Front clear?"

"It is now."

They started towards the door when Peter grated out, "Grab the damn laptop."

Olive's eyes darted to the table, and she dropped her hold on Peter to retrieve it.

As soon as they were in the car, Olive fished around in the glove box, coming up with pills that Peter dry swallowed without question. His leg hurt like hell, but he was pretty sure that damage wasn't permanent. The blood that had soaked though the front of his jeans wasn't too much to be alarming. He shifted on the seat, trying to get comfortable and groaned when his knee thumped against the front seat. Olive hissed as his pain bled over to her.

Nick threw the car in gear, drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel. "We need to go to medical."

Peter jerked his head up at that. "No."

Nick shook his head. "Peter, you're hurt."

"No. I don't care. Don't take me back there." Peter was beyond caring about the pleading note in his voice.

"Peter…"

"Nick, please. Please don't."

Olive reached over the seat and took Peter's hand. "Nick, we can take care of him."

Nick shook his head, but headed to the apartment.

Olive helped him out of the car, and helped him limp towards the apartment. Getting up the stairs was a challenge; whatever pain medicine she'd given him was making his head swim. He was surprised at the amount of worry spiking off of her. He was surprised that he couldn't really push her out of his head, thoughts sliding along hers, unable to find purchase.

"Stop that." She propelled him towards the bathroom. She curled through his mind, easing comfort across their connection.

Nick got a first aid kit from the closet by the front door. "Pants off, dude."

"What, you're not even going to buy me a drink first?"

"Funny."

Nick's hands were at his belt, and for a dizzying moment Peter felt a hot wave of lust wash over him, uncertain if it was his or Olive's or just a reaction because he was so goddamn dizzy. He batted Nick's hands away and pushed his jeans down, yelping as they scraped over the swollen knot on his thigh.

The bruise was swelling, a goose egg under mottled, split skin. Blood was oozing from the split, and Peter nearly giggled at the thought that it looked like a little volcano. Peter thumped down onto the toilet, too dizzy to stand.

"Christ, Olive, what did you give him?" Nick tore open an alcohol wipe and Peter nearly screamed when he swabbed it over his leg.

"Vicoden. Maybe one too many. I didn't think he'd be such a lightweight."

"Hello. I'm right here." Peter waved a hand in front of Nick's face.

Olive caught Peter's hand. Nick prodded the skin around the cut and Peter hissed.

"Not very deep. You should be okay without stitches. Lemme clean it out and get it bandaged. Ol, go get an icepack for him. The swelling is pretty bad."

"I'm fine." Peter tried to stand up and Nick pushed him back down.

"Peter, for fuck's sake, stay still. You're worse than Olive."

Peter pointed at Nick. "You take that back, asshole."

"Dude, what happened to your hand?"

An ugly bruise was spreading over the back of it. Peter frowned. "I don't kno…owww!"

Nick prodded the bones of Peter's hand. "Don't think anything's broken."

"You're a terrible fucking doctor. Oh my god, that hurts." Peter tried to push Nick away from him, movement slow and clumsy.

Olive slipped back into the room and held the ice pack against the back of Peter's hand, trapping it under her own on his uninjured leg. She curled her free hand over the back of his neck and ghosted comfort over their connection, carefully unraveling the emotions to avoid his pain. He scrabbled over the link to pull her to him, clutching at the comfort until the pain was distant and unreal. The feeling circled back on their connection, a feedback loop that left them both glassy-eyed and blissful.

Nick taped a butterfly bandage over Peter's thigh and chuckled at them, keeping himself well-distant from their minds. "You two alright up there?"

Peter blinked slowly. "Holy shit."

The last of the barrier between them fell away, and Peter was dizzy with the rush of Olive's mind over his. For a moment the room wavered, became a chaotic blur of misplaced colors and sounds. It felt good, better than any high he'd ever had, better than he could imagine. The fit of her mind against his was perfect, echoed by the solid, amused presence of Nick on the other side of her. Things tilted back where they ought to be, but the bone-deep pleasure remained, and Peter wanted to claw at her skin to get more.

"Bed, guys. Come on." Nick helped him to his feet, and Olive tucked herself against his side. The hallway was too narrow for the three of them, so they shuffled sideways to the bedroom. Between them, Peter felt warm and sleepy, pain ebbing away to almost nothing. They eased him onto the bed and Olive curled against his side.

He felt safe.

"Home," he muttered.

Olive lifted her head from his chest and blinked at him, sleepy and confused. After a moment, she smiled, wide and genuine. She laid her head back onto his chest, and Peter could feel the weight of her mind go heavy with sleep. Nick curled against Olive's back and draped his arm over her to rest on Peter's stomach. He was nearly asleep when Peter tucked his hand into Nick's, and Nick smiled against the back of Olive's neck.

Peter stood in the narrow hallway and stared at the keys in his hand. They were on a keychain that had a cartoon cat with huge ears on it, from some show that Nick liked. Peter turned his hand over and frowned at the bruises on the back of it. They were just starting to fade, going sickly yellow along the edges, like the one on his thigh. His leg ached like hell, aggravated by the walk to Nick and Olive's apartment, since there was never any nearby parking. The walk had given him time to think over again what he had found on the laptop.

He looked at the keys again, shiny and new and stuffed them back in his pocket. After a few minutes, Peter knocked on the door.

Olive was dressed in dark dress pants and a gray button-down shirt. A matching suit jacket was draped over the back of the couch. She looked grim.

"I see you're all smiles this morning."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah, getting reamed by our handler is loads of fun."

"That bad?"

"Peter, Jones had found a way to make guns out of thin air and not only did we break it, we burnt the building it was in to the ground."

"Well, technically I broke the thing, and the building burning down wasn't anyone's fault, really."

Nick was still pulling a gray t-shirt over his head when he walked into the kitchen. "At least we've got the laptop. Nice call on saving that. I can't believe we forgot about it."

"About that." He licked his lips. "How well do you trust him?"

Olive wrinkled her nose. "Who?"

"Gaston."

Olive shrugged. "Well enough. Why?"

"That laptop. It didn't have information about the box or however Jones was getting them. It had stuff about you. Both of you. The weapons were bait."

Nick dropped into a chair and braced his elbows on the table. "To get us to the warehouse."

Peter nodded. "There's stuff about me, too. Progress reports. They knew I was working with you."

Olive shook her head. "Jones must have…" She trailed off and frowned at Nick.

Nick's eyes were serious when he looked at Peter. "He's got someone inside, doesn't he?"

"I don't see any other explanation," Peter said. "So with that in mind, how well do you trust Gaston?"

Olive's voice was small. "Do you think he knew?"

Nick said, "He did give us the assignment."

Peter tried to keep the feeling of betrayal that was rolling off Olive out of his mind. "Have you reported anything yet?"

"No details, just that it didn't go to plan." Nick reached across the table and took Olive's hand.

"He doesn't know about the laptop?"

Olive shook her head.

"Let's keep it that way."

"Peter, we don't lie to our handler."

"Someone tried to kill you. Someone with training that let them get close to you without you being able to tell that they were there. Someone who was trained like you are." Peter grabbed her hand and punched right through her defenses. "I am not going to lose you again, and I don't care who I have to lie to to keep you safe."

Olive's eyes went wide, and her mouth formed a little O. She curled her fingers around Peter's. She dropped her head after a moment.

"He's right, Ol."

She looked at Nick, then back to Peter. "We have to trust them. We don't have anyone else."

Peter's eyes were intensely blue as he leaned forward and squeezed her hand. "I'm not going anywhere. We have each other."


End file.
